Kryptonite
by The Real F'n Scorp
Summary: Someone has not only hired assassins to kill two of his closest friends, but they have given them special bullets in order to see the deed done. The question on Tim Drake's mind now is, who? And more importantly, why? T for mild violence and adult themes.
1. Trouble

'_If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman_

_If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand_

_I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might_

_Kryptonite'_

_ Kryptonite_ by Three Doors Down.

* * *

"So I was thinking that we should throw a surprise party for Dick's birthday..."

Conner Kent trailed off when he heard a woman scream. _No_, he mentally corrected as he attenuated to the sound. That was not just some ordinary woman off the streets screaming-it was _Raya_ screaming. Something must be wrong. Something must be very, _very _wrong, he realized, his body going taut as piano wire. Raya Kean was simply not the sort of woman to scream like that. Not unless there was something- or _someone_, he mentally corrected, _making _her cry out.

_But what could the reason be?_

His brow knit into a pensive frown while he contemplated the various reasons for why his girlfriend of the past seven months was screeching in a mixture of terror and rage. Conner felt himself squirming for keeping such a secret from Tim, and was on the verge of telling his best friend the truth when he heard another, even higher pitched shriek. However, the sound was distorted this time. _No_, he mentally corrected. It was _muted_. As if she had a hand covering her mouth. Conner felt anger flicker to life inside him, mixing with an almost drugging dose of fear. Tim had told him earlier that Raya's biological father was again making threats on her life (something _she'd_ neglected to tell him about).

_Could Berkeley's goons have managed to catch her unaware_?

Conner tried to recall if Raya told him she was going to be out on patrol tonight, or if she'd be back at the apartment they _shared _(meaning when he hadn't been discovered in the city by either his best friend or one of the other Batfamily members) and working on her thesis paper. He was on the verge of asking Tim where she was when another cry, longer in duration and filled with an almost helpless rage reached his ears. A great anger surged and like a rocket, the man known around the world as Superboy blasted into the air, zeroing in on the direction from where that high, keening wail had originated from. He honed in on Raya, blocking out every other sound until her voice became the only ambient sound he could hear. Tim called up to him, his blue eyes wide with surprise over his rather rude exit from their conversation and bright with concern, "Conner? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Raya's in trouble!" he yelled down to him before he rocketed away. He wasn't completely alone on his mission of rescue, however. Oh no, his faithful sidekick and canine best friend, the Kryptonian wonder dog, Krypto flew right by his side, his bright red tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as they streaked towards their destination. He blasted around a building at the same time Tim let out a string of curses that had his lips twitching despite the seriousness of the situation. _Wow, Tim, looks like you've been spending too much time with your mentor,_ Conner thought with a slight chuckle. _You're starting to pick up on some of Batman's less than savory language skills here._

Then he heard a _schwoo _and knew his best friend had fired a line from his grapnel gun.

Not that it mattered.

Robin wasn't able to get to the petite woman as quickly as _he_ could.

Conner zipped around another corner, heading for a building which sat smack dab in the middle of 250th E. Gotham Boulevard. He flew around a gleaming skyscraper and was immediately caught up in an up-current of air that caressed his overheated flesh with icy fingers. Normally, flying offered him a sense of freedom, of being in control of his own destiny and his own life. Up here, he was responsible for the direction that he took, what path he wanted to choose.

Tonight, though, his flight course was chosen so he could save a woman who meant a great deal to him. _No_, he told himself silently. _That's not right. She means more than a great deal to me. She means the world to me_. Raya Kean also meant the world to one other man, one whom Conner admired for his dedication to serving the greater good without resorting to the tactics that bastards like the Joker tended to employ. Batman viewed Raya (whom he'd graced with the codename of _Fenix_ once he'd taken her beneath his dark wing) in the same way he did Dick, and Tim, as one of his children. If something were to happen to Raya, he'd hate to think about the toll it would take upon the venerable Dark Knight. Losing one child had almost broken the man mentally. To lose a second?

It was not something he even cared to stop and think about.

Conner crested the roof of a building and pulled up when he spied the two people struggling on the penthouse balcony that was across the way. The larger of the pair, a man with dark hair and wearing a tan leather jacket over his black body armor, was cornering Raya between himself and the balcony railing. Even from here he could tell she was having none of it.

"Let me go, Jason!"

Her simple command held ripples of authority, sang with sweet compulsion. Hearing it, Conner felt his lips twitch. If anybody could match Batman's autocratic tone, it was the Fenix. She'd only learned the knack of commanding at his knee. However, that low, velvety tone was lacking its usual strength and intensity. There was an audible tremble in her tone that told the superhero that she was deeply afraid of the man pinning her against the rail. Considering that her terrorizer was Jason Todd (former Robin, Titan and all around asshole in Conner's opinion), he could completely understand her anxiety. Especially since her nervousness was adding to his own.

"Aw, c'mon, Princess," Jason purred. "Shouldn't a kiss go to the victor as his spoils?"

"This isn't a game, you horse's ass!"

"Oh," Jason said with a slow smile. "But I disagree."

Conner's hands bunched into fists at his sides. _He would consider putting moves on my woman a game_, he silently fumed. Not that that should have surprised him any. On a good day, Jason Todd was merely a loose cannon just waiting for the slightest provocation in order to blow. On a bad day he was an unpredictable maelstrom that couldn't be controlled, no matter how much Batman had tried. His ambiguous view about using a violent _modus operandi _against the criminal sect as a solution to solving the problem of crime in the city kept him perpetually at odds with the other members of his adoptive family.

It was his repeated attacks upon those members of his family that concerned Conner the most. Jason had nearly killed Tim once already, and challenged both Bruce and Dick dozens of other times in the past few months. All of those fights had had nearly disastrous consequences upon the three men. And while Jason had never _directly_ attacked any of the female Batfamily members, there was a very distinct possibility, if he was pushed far enough, that he _could_. Cass would cream the twerp. However, Barbara and Raya, as well-trained fighters as they were, as capable as each was at holding her own in a fight against just about anybody, could still be hurt. Conner knew Jason was a threat that was way more dangerous than anything Raya had ever faced before (and she'd faced off against scum like the Scarecrow and Joker dozens of times). Even for a guy who didn't have "relatives" of his own, Conner was well aware that family was the most dangerous enemy one could face.

He also knew words could be an even more powerful weapon than fists. With Raya Kean, there came baggage. Some of which was as dark and as twisted as the emotional bullshit rolling around in Jason's own head. Matthew Berkeley (Raya's biological father) had inflicted years of psychological abuse upon his daughter, none more damaging than making her watch as he would beat her mother. He spent years denouncing her existence, telling her she was worthless simply because she'd been born a girl.

A thought drifted its way into Conner's subconscious then and had him hissing out one long, low, and violent curse. Jason didn't know about _any _of this. He didn't know how Raya's fear of small spaces had been caused by her father locking her and her mother in a pantry cabinet and leaving them there for hours on end. He didn't know about how being backed into a corner could cause her to fall to pieces because of how her father would routinely corner her against a wall in order to bully her into maintaining her silence or doing what he wanted. He didn't know about how the word _princess_ was one that caused dozens of cuts to split open and seep fresh blood.

Simply, Jason knew absolutely _nothing_ about the woman he was down there terrorizing.

When Bruce had brought him in as Robin, it had been after he'd sent Raya away (under the guise of attending a finishing school in France) in order to protect her from her father's wrath. _Goddamn it, he doesn't realize he's stepping all over every one of her psychological triggers right now_. He released a frustrated breath even as he heard Raya shout: "Let me go!"

There was such a raw chord of fear in her voice; on her face that it punched a hole in Conner's gut. He glanced over at Krypto.

"Ready to go and save our girl?"

A low growl was his only reply.

* * *

How things had gotten quite so out of hand, Raya could not say. Somewhere in the twenty minutes since Jason had broken into her apartment (somehow managing to surpass Bruce's security system), and woken her from a sound sleep (by hopping into bed with her no less!), things had gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. What had started out as nothing more than a verbal sparring match between them had ended with her backed into a corner out on her penthouse balcony and him trying to claim a kiss as his prize. A _prize _for what she didn't exactly know (though she suspected that making her reveal her fear of him was the likeliest possibility). Considering how the dratted man lived to torment his adoptive father and older brother, she could only assume that his decision to come here to torment her was just another means by which he'd attack both men.

It was clear Jason wanted a fight. He was spoiling for one, in fact. He'd been busy with eliminating a small-time human trafficking ring in the underbelly of Crime Alley for the last week. His violent binge had caused three encounters between him and Bruce, all of which had left scars (mental as well as physical) upon the Wayne patriarch that she knew would never heal. Now he was here, looking to go through her in order to get another rise out of his adoptive parent. Well, she was bound and determined he wouldn't get it. She wouldn't bring Bruce here just so Jason could get his fix. If he wanted to get into a fight with their parent, well, then he'd just have to take his ass to the cave and punch Bruce in the face in order to get it.

Raya wriggled her hands between their bodies and shoved at his chest. The blasted man didn't even budge. "Jason," she said as calmly as she could. "I've been very patient with you up until this point. But I want you to leave. _Now_."

However, his next comment would hit her harder than a fist to her solar plexus.

"Aw, all I'm wantin' is a kiss, Princess," he said in a low, dark purr that clicked open locks and ripped down barriers. "What's the harm in givin' me a kiss?"

A tear slithered down her cheek as she shook her head. His tone of voice, his choice of endearment, seemed to drain away everything she was and left her as the little girl she'd once been.

She felt her adult self slowly fading away.

Fading away into a memory she didn't want to remember, but which she could never forget. No matter how hard she tried, she just could not erase the night her father murdered her mother from her mind. The images came and caused more tears to leak from her eyes, course down her cheeks and drop onto the ground.

"Leave me alone," she moaned. "_Please_."

But neither the memory nor this man would let her be. No, they kept pushing at her, pressing in on her until the familiar dredges of panic and dread burned in her gut. His fingers slid around to the back of her neck and brought on a hideous wave of nausea.

"Aw, what'sa matter, Princess?" he whispered next to her ear. "Daddy not here ta back ya up?"

She swallowed the saliva that flooded her mouth and ordered herself to breathe. The air whistled in her lungs, clogged there until she was gulping for every breath she managed to take around the bands tightening around her chest. The pressure was making her head light, and she thought she was going to pass out, but she bore down, refused to give in. She'd already given Jason what he wanted by revealing her fear to him, she would not humiliate herself further by sinking into unconsciousness. But then the edges of her vision blurred and all she could see was her father's face staring back at her from Jason's.

The past came rushing up to grab hold of her then, tossing her helplessly back in time to a night she'd never forget for as long as she lived...

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing beyond that which is definitely my own (characters and plot). Everything else belongs to DC (sadly).

**A/N:** This is just a quick note to say that this story is an Alternate Universe/Divergence. For those who are reading anything else in my collection, this story stands by itself and exists in its own verse (and is an AU of the canon material clearly). My profile has a better explanation since I hate long author notes :)

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!


	2. Dark Realizations

**Berkeley Estate**

_Fourteen years ago._

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?"

The man whose face was inches from hers reached up to sweep her dark curls out of her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she repressed the shudder that his touch elicited. Then he reached out, and those slender fingers brushed her cheek.

She went cold to the marrow.

"Well, Princess?" he asked in a low, dark purr. "Don't you have an answer for daddy?"

She lifted wide, fearful eyes to his face. One of his cheeks had scratches from her where her mother's fingernails had scored the smooth flesh. Pinpricks of blood dotted his cheek and pooled by the corner of his mouth. A mouth that she knew was cruel when it smiled and which smiled when he was being cruel. Both his hair and eyes were the color of melted chocolate. He looked like a modern day James Bond in his evening black, tall and slim, darkly handsome. However, this man was nothing like the mythical hero all little girls believed their daddies to be.

Oh no, this man was a villain—of the same caliber as the ones who threatened to destroy all of Gotham with their greed and violence. Unlike them though, this man hid his predatory nature behind a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication, beneath the vast wealth and social prestige that'd been granted him at the time of his birth. She thought about screaming for help, but there was nobody there who would come to her rescue. The servants were all huddling in their rooms and waiting for the monster to retreat to his wing of the mansion before they'd surface to help the little girl so in need of a hero to save her.

Fear bubbled in her throat, hot and bitter. It closed in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold. She opened her mouth, but what she placating words she might have said, froze when she saw _that _look in his eyes. That dead-eyed, predatory expression which told her he was just waiting for her to make a mistake.

She stood absolutely still.

She made no sound whatsoever.

She didn't dare too.

His lips curled into that cruel smile that Raya knew spelled trouble. Her heart pounded harder, faster. There were bands tightening around her head, around her chest. She struggled for control, for calm. If she wasn't careful, very, very careful, he'd kill her same as he'd killed her mother. Her eyes darted to the gun he still held and her fear escalated even more. Raya knew fear could be primitive, mindless, much like the fear that a gazelle felt when being pursued across the plains by a cheetah. Instinct, however, told her there was more danger inside this one man than in all the predators that lived in the African Savanna. And she knew that there was a time for playing the hero, a time for fear, a time for rolling the dice and taking your chances.

Even a nine-year-old could learn when to hold 'em, be taught when to walk away, and knew when to run.

* * *

"You're so quiet," Jason taunted in a sing-songy voice. "What? The..." a pause was followed by a cruel smile. "_Bat _got your tongue?"

Raya heard him in her subconscious, felt the familiar stirrings of her anger and used it to rise above the fear choking her. Her eyes opened, but all she could see were her father's, those clear, empty pools just daring her to do something.

"C'mon, Princess…"

"Stop calling me that."

The ends of his lips lifted and he bent his head, stopping when his lips were an inch from hers. "Make me…" he paused, smirked. "_Princess_."

There was a snarl and a blur of white and a second later Jason was forcibly pushed away from Raya by Krypto, who faced him with his teeth barred and fur standing on end. Raya had never been happier to see either the superdog or the man who landed silently beside her. Jason, however, was clearly less than pleased to see Conner.

"So how many Knights in shining armor do ya got protecting ya, Princess?" he sneered. "And what's the price for such a privilege?" The insinuation in his tone had Conner's blood pump. "Maybe it's worth paying."

"You're not worthy of being one of her Knights," Conner replied in a quiet voice. "You'll never be good enough to be one of her protectors."

"Aw, and why's that, super freak?"

"Because we actually protect her is why," another voice chimed in. Jason swung his gaze over to that of the figure perched on the railing, his cape fluttering in the slight breeze. His lips curved into a sneer.

"I'm surprised the old man's letting ya outta the cave after the beating I gave ya… _Robin_."

The last was spoken nastily, and carried a slippery undercurrent of promise. Hearing it snapped Raya back to who she was. She was Raya Kean, the _Fenix_, and _nobody_ spoke to _her_ Robin that way. Not even a former one.

"You leave him alone," she hissed. "Come after me if you need someone to vent your wrath upon. I can take it. I can take whatever you toss at me. But so help me God, Jason, if you make a move towards him..." her voice dropped an octave and something feral burned in her eyes, upon her face. "I'll hunt you down and I _will_ put you back in the ground."

Jason turned that dead-eyed, predatory expression of her father's upon her.

"So the Princess…."

"Stop calling me that!" The words were shouted in a voice that vibrated with every ounce of the emotions doing loopity-loops through her at that moment. "I'm not a princess!"

"Rich, spoiled, pampered br..."

A low, animalistic growl burst from Raya's lips a second before she launched herself at Jason, fingers curled into talons that she aimed at his smirking face. Conner moved to grab hold of her, same as Tim, but he stopped himself a second before his fingers could grasp hold of her arm. To touch her now, when she was in such a hypersensitive state, could be the straw that broke her completely. Not that it mattered. Krypto interceded with a low, plaintive whine, using his greater strength to push the snarling woman back towards Tim, who drew her against his side and shushed her by running his hand down her back and making soft, soothing murmurs.

It killed Conner to see her standing there, trembling now with helpless anger and fear, her face whiter even than Krypto's fur. He shot a black look at Jason, beyond pissed with the man for not seeing what he'd been putting her through with his antics. Jason merely folded his arms across his chest, all smug confidence and brash ego. Out of the corner of his eye, Conner saw Tim lower his head, and speak quietly into Raya's ear. He willfully tuned out what was being said as a matter of respect for their privacy. He then saw Raya give a slow, jerky nod of the head and figured she'd agreed to whatever he asked of her. Then Tim was looking at him, a quiet urgency in the depths of his blue eyes.

"Kon," he said quietly. "Get her out of here, _please_."

Conner didn't hesitate, just stepped towards her, brushing his fingers against her arm to let her know he was there and waiting for her assent before he touched her. When she turned towards him, reached for him, he curled an arm around her, held her tight.

"Krypto, stay with Robin," he instructed a second before he lifted up into the air.

* * *

As soon as Conner and Raya were out of sight, Tim rounded on Jason, his eyes flashing blue fire and his hands clenching into fists that he planted against his hips in order to keep from pummeling Jason. Oh, it was tempting to wipe that infernal smirk from his face. Physically attacking the older man would only serve to give him the physical release he'd been after. But that did not mean he was going to let him off the hook. Oh, no, Jason wasn't going to get away without getting a reprimand for what he'd done to Raya at least. He waited for his temper to cool before he spoke.

"Is it that you could not see what you were doing to her?" he asked him. "Or is it that you are so far gone that you just don't care about who you hurt?"

Krypto growled, long and low in his throat, adding an unnecessary (in Jason's opinion) exclamation point upon those forcibly uttered words. He shot a glare at the snarling white mutt but didn't dare make a move against him. He had a feeling he'd lose a valuable part of his anatomy if he did. So he contented himself by shooting a sneer at his replacement.

"Aw," he simpered. "Hearing the truth really musta sucked for the pampered princess, huh?"

Tim took a step towards him, but somehow refrained from planting his fist into his stomach. He sent a slow, smug smile at the teen superhero, openly taunting him to do something. How Tim managed to keep from hitting him, Jason didn't know. Or understand. Clearly.

"You cannot see that you were psychologically torturing a woman for no reason other than so you could feel better about yourself, can you?" Tim shook his head, his face scrunched up with his disgust. "God, you're more screwed up than we thought."

Jason scoffed and went to turn away. He didn't need the kid lecturing him about how fucked up he was. Nor did he need him busting his chops about what he said to the so-called Fenix. It wasn't like he was gonna apologize to the woman. Fact was fact in his mind. The fabulously wealthy Raya Kean was exactly what he thought she was: a pretty and pampered little kitten entertaining herself inbetween lapses on her social calendar by play acting at being a crime fighter.

He paused, only for a second, and sneered over his shoulder, "Exactly what traumas could the princess have suffered, Timbo? What?" His voice dripped acidic honey. "Her daddy not buy her a new Mercedes for her birthday? Refused to get her a pony when she was a kid? Or did he take away her black AMEX card?"

"How about he murdered her mother right in front of her when she was nine?"

* * *

Whatever sarcastic quip Jason had been about to make came out as nothing more than a _fffft_ at Tim's soft proclamation. He half-turned to look back at him, studying that masked face silently and seeing a quiet fury intermixed with a dark sorrow. _Shit_. That thought was followed instantly by, _C'mon, kid, tell me you're joking. Please_. But the current acting Robin said nothing. He just continued staring at Jason as if he had grown horns and a tail. And Jason had the feeling he had.

"Ya ain't shittin' me," he stated in a soft voice, "are ya?"

"Do you honestly think that I'd lie about something like that, Jason?"

It wasn't a growl. No, Tim just sounded exhausted. The hell of it was that he knew that being a liar (outside of having to lie in order to protect his secret life as a crime fighter) wasn't one of Tim's character traits. If he was saying that the woman had watched her father kill her mother, well then she saw him do it. Again came his earlier thought of, _shit_. That was quickly followed by a dark, slippery voice whispering in his ear about how he was the "stupidest son of a bitch to ever walk God's green Earth."

Then came flashes of sight and sound. The final moments which proceeded the superdog's intervention shot through his brain, and brought a clarity he'd been missing. The images superimposed themselves one after another across his visual field and each revealing what the red veil of hatred had been concealing from him. What he'd thought stood in front of him before had been a woman, cool and regal with her jewel toned eyes blazing with the force of her ire. Yet, all he saw now was a hollow-eyed girl with tears streaming down a face white as a ghost. Where he'd imagined the quaking of her body to be her disgust for him, he realized they were tremors caused by her fear of him. Now the voice he heard was that of a little girl begging the big bad bully to "please leave" her "alone."

Jason felt the familiar stirrings of sorrow and regret, knew both were fed by the low boiling anger he only barely kept contained at best. But there was also a new emotion worming through him, one he'd never experienced before and had no way to define. It felt like icy claws were pumping something dark and desperate deep into the chambers of his crippled heart and soul and reanimating them.

Things long buried came roaring to life, flooding him with emotions that had been lying doormant since his resurrection. Guilt settled like a lead ball in the pit of his belly, and shame slapped away the last vestiges of his temper. Long buried hurts and resentment festered and oozed, reminding him about how he'd been in her shoes "once upon a time." Jason raked his fingers through his hair as the voices in his head all rose up to shout at him, reviling him for the cruel and vindictive bastard he'd sworn never to become.

"Doesn't feel so good now, does it?" one voice whispered in his ear. "You made her feel like shit in hopes it would make you feel better. And ya just feel worse, don'tcha?"

"Alfred would be disappointed to see how low you've sunk," said another.

"You're just like our pops, Jay," another voice (which sounded suspiciously like his younger self) snarked. "Why don't ya just hit her next time? What he woulda done."

And the most damning voice of all, the one which sounded like Bruce whenever he was disappointed in him, demanded, "why did you attack the Fenix?"

_No_, he mentally corrected his absent mentor. _I didn't attack the Fenix. I attacked Raya Kean. I verbally assaulted her. I attacked a woman. Not a crime fighter._

And he didn't know why. Jason didn't have a logical explanation for why he'd gone after Raya in such a vindictive manner. There was no rhyme, no reason, no _excuse_ for his attack upon her. Even the lawless, heartless jades he encountered during his nightly searches of the bowels of Gotham he treated more respectfully than he had Raya.

Hell, he showed more kindness to that nutcase, Harley Quinn. Yet this woman, this _one_ woman, he'd maliciously and thoughtlessly ripped to pieces. And he couldn't understand why. It wasn't like she'd done anything more than ask him you get out of her home. He turned away so Tim couldn't see the flashes of regret, or the sea of uncertainty now filling him. He shoulda known better, though. He shoulda known that turning away would tip him off. The kid was Robin, after all.

_And a much better one than I ever was gonna be._

"Jason?" he heard Tim say softly.

"Yeah?" he mumbled.

"Are you... " he trailed off for a moment. "Are you okay?"

_Dumb question, kid._

Yet there was a wealth of uncertainty in the question, as if the kid expected him to turn around and bust him in the chops. Even the mutt whined plaintatively, as if he was offering him words of comfort and support.

_Just bite me in the balls already, pup_.

It's what he deserved after what he'd done.

"Yeah," is what he said out loud, however. "Yeah, I'm okay." _I'm only a nasty-tempered asshole who just raked a woman over hot coals in order ta get a rise outta the old man_. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he asked right before he jumped over the balcony railing.

A second later Tim saw him swinging between lamp poles towards downtown Gotham. A sad, lonely, and confused man who chose to run away from his past rather than stand and face it. Krypto nuzzled his hand, whuffing softly.

"I don't get him either, Krypto," Tim told the superdog quietly. "I don't think he gets himself, quite honestly."

Krypto's reply was a low, near mournful sounding howl that Tim thought represented the heart and soul of the man known as the Red Hood.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Hope the week has been good to you! Quick FYI, updates will be on Thursdays from now on!

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	3. This is Conner Kent

Conner didn't let go of Raya even once they were a safe distance away from her apartment building. Intuitively, he knew that being _let go of_ was the absolute last thing that she wanted or needed at that moment. No, what this woman needed was to be held tightly in his arms. She needed him to make her feel safe and protected while her defenses were in shambles. She needs to know she is loved. Every one of those things was something he could do for her. They were things he'd been doing for the last seven months, in fact. What he couldn't do, however, was steal her pain away. He couldn't lift away the sorrow he saw rimming those eyes he loved staring into. He couldn't take her memories, or block her thoughts.

Because for all that he was the half kryptonian hero known as _Superboy_, he was also half plain old _Conner Kent_ as well.

And Conner did not have the powers necessary to fix this woman. All he could do was exactly what he was doing.

She'd say it was enough.

He, as he so frequently did, would disagree.

"You're all right," he crooned. "I've gotcha. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Jus-just don't let go," he felt her say against his throat. "Jus-just hold onto me for a little while longer, please?"

Hearing her voice throb with what had been awakened inside her punched a hole in his heart. The sting of vulnerability, the sizzle of uncertainty and the blatant surge of fear flayed his soul to shreds.

"I've got no plans to let you go, baby," he assured her. "I won't let you go until you tell me too, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

It barely came out as a whimper of sound. He held her a bit tighter, ever mindful that he could crush her with his greater physical strength. Her hands crept beneath the hem of his t-shirt and jacket, fingers stroking over his flesh and sending prickles of icy heat to pool in his belly. Her need to touch his bare skin during moments of emotional unrest had been something he'd found initially strange and unusual until he'd come to realize how it was she was connecting with _him_. Touching his bare skin centered her in the here and now. It was an intimate link that allowed her to work through whatever thoughts and memories might be tearing her apart inside by providing her with a firm reminder that there was someone real there who cared about her, who'd be there to catch her as she fell.

He'd found out that she had a lot of little quirks like that.

When she was in public (masked or in her civilian form), Raya always appeared cool, confident and in complete control of herself and whatever situation she found herself embroiled. Even he'd only seen her as someone capable of handling anything and everything life tossed at her in the beginning. But then he learned that that was nothing more than the mask she'd created in order to keep the public from ascertaining her secret identity. There were three personas Raya tended to switch between when she was in public: Ice Princess, Fenix and Agent Kean.

The real Raya was one she reserved for when she was among those she trusted. The private Raya was this adorably dorky, somewhat shy, kinda awkward and more than a tad bit geeky little bookworm who was frequently uncomfortable in her own skin.

And that was all okay with Conner.

He loved all three sides of her: the Ice Princess, the Fenix, and the little bookworm.

Conner felt the last vestiges of temper, hurt and fear that Jason had awoke with his vicious attack roll through her like a wave undulating beneath his surfboard. But then the kryptonian hero realized it was like two degrees out and Raya wasn't wearing anything other than one of his t-shirts and a pair of thin cotton shorts. He snorted and shifted to seat her upon the wrought iron railing of a nearby fire escape.

"Wha-what are you doing?" she managed around the chattering of her teeth.

"I am setting you down so I can give you my jacket."

"I'm fi-fine, Conner."

"If fine equals being a chattering ice cube, then sure," he said lightly before bundling her into his jacket. "You're fine."

She instantly tried to slide out of the coat, saying, "Yo-you need..."

He shushed her with a kiss. "I'll be okay," he whispered against her lips.

She gave in, but begrudgingly. "I hate it when you do that," she muttered.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me."

The ends of his lips twitched. "I thought you liked when I kiss you?"

"I do," she huffed. "I just can't think straight after you do it."

He grinned. "Really now?"

She gave him a dirty look. "You know your kisses turn me into mush, meathead," she drawled. "Admit it."

He let out a soft chuckle. "All right, ya got me." He brushed her hair from her face. "But in my defense, I've had to learn to use whatever weapon is in my arsenal when dealing with my often moody girlfriend."

She slid off the railing into his arms. "It's cheating and yanno it, Conner."

"It worked to distract you though, didn't it?"

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder. "Yeah," she admitted. "I gotta admit it did help."

"Wanna tell me what happened now?"

"That's the problem, Conner," she said on one long breath. "I don't honestly know what in the hell happened." She angled her head back in order to look at him. "It was a normal argument..." she trickled off into a sigh. "Then it was like something…" a pause was punctuated with a frown. "_Broke_ inside him."

That made sense to Conner. Given what the guy had been through-death, resurrection and being soaked in a bath tub with the fanatical Ra's al Ghul, it was easy to understand just why the guy was wound a bit tight. However, that didn't excuse what the man had done to her.

Nothing would ever excuse what the man had done to Raya.

"Jason Todd has always been a loose cannon," he pointed out gently.

"He's been hurt..." she began but Conner cut her off.

"He tends to lash out at everybody, babe."

"I know," she breathed out on a sigh. "But Conner... I think maybe it's that he was finally unloading at the people he felt had most failed him."

"What do you mean?"

He had a suspicious feeling that even as he asked that question that he already knew the answer.

"Me, Dick, Bruce, his own mother," she stated softly, "we all failed Jason Todd in some way. Dick and I by not being there for him, Bruce for not being the father he needed, and his _mother_..." she spat the final word contemptuously. "Well, his mother failed him most of all by selling him out to that sick son of a bitch."

"None of that excuses what he did to _you_," he pointed out gently. "He viciously attacked you without there being any one good reason whatsoever to justify it."

"I know..." she began but he interrupted before she could even launch into that _but_ he heard.

"Baby," he spoke gently now. "I know you are trying to understand him, to figure him out so you can help fix him. But sometimes there's just no logical explanation for why someone acts like an asshole."

"He just wants someone to tell him _why_, Conner."

Conner lay his cheek against the top of her hair. "Why what?"

"Why we let it happen." She stroked her fingers along his spine. "Why we weren't there to stop it. Why we forgot about him. Why we replaced him."

"Is that how it started? He wanted to know why?"

"No," she replied. "I woke up and he was in the bed next to me."

Conner stiffened at hearing _that_ particular piece of information. "What?" he growled.

Raya nuzzled her head beneath his chin, and smiled at the anger that sizzled in his voice. "He was sitting there watching _Comedy Central_ and eating some of the pizza we had left over from the other night. It was more like a... game at that moment to him."

"When did things get ugly?"

"Right after I told him that he could take his ass to the cave and punch Bruce in the face if he wanted a fight with him so damn badly."

If not for the fact that he'd hopped in bed with his girlfriend, Conner _might_ have found the guys ballsiness amusing. As it was...

"Asshole was in bed with my girl."

"Your girl." She scoffed. "Gimme a break, kryptonite for brains."

"You are my girl," he told her in mock seriousness. "Which is why if he ever hops in bed with you again, I'm going to have to throw him in the Pacific Ocean."

He felt more than heard her laugh. "How about taking me to yours and Tim's hideout?"

His eyebrows shot up. "You don't want to go back to our apartment tonight?"

She shook her head and the vanilla scent of her shampoo wafted up to tickle his nose and tingle along his senses. "I can't sleep in the apartment, Conner. Not tonight. And not," she added on a sigh, "alone."

He stroked a hand over the cap of that silky hair and told himself he could understand why she did not want to return home at that moment. Still...

"You realize that if we go to my hideout that you won't get to sleep in my arms."

She lifted her head to look at him and in the shadows cast by the two buildings they floated between; her eyes glowed like a jaguar's. "And why won't I?"

"Uh, remember that Tim is staying with me at the hideout this weekend while his father is out of town?"

"And?"

"And he doesn't know about us?"

She made a face. "I think it's time we tell him, Conner. We've been seeing each other for seven months now. Pretty clear where things are going between us."

"That Tim hasn't figured out that we're together actually amazes me," he admitted with a small smile. "I really figured he'd have caught on by now about why I spend so much time in Gotham."

"Me too," she admitted with a smile. "Especially since Bruce knows about us and has known for quite a while apparently."

"Wait," Conner sputtered. "Bruce _knows_ we've been seeing each other?" He saw her nod. "How? We've been so careful!"

She smirked. "BatDaddy knows _everything_, honey."

Conner felt as if he'd been punched in the chest by Superman. "_Everything_?" he croaked.

"_Everything_."

Conner groaned, imagining the massive ass kicking that awaited him the next time he met Batman face-to-face. "At least Tim won't shoot me full of kryptonite before he pounds me into the dirt," he muttered.

"It won't be that bad," Raya assured him. Then she added, her tone slightly mischievous, "it's not like you're dating the Police Commissioner's daughter here..."

Conner knew he was doomed.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the fav/follow buttons. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!


	4. The Enemy

The hand which reached for the phone perched on the corner of a gleaming desk was plump and tan. Against the dark tone of the wood his skin appeared almost like gold. At the wrist, navy stripped cuffs were studded with oval sapphires. The nails were buffed to a dull sheen and neatly clipped. The receiver of the phone was black, sleek, and hinting at the same mysterious nature as the one reaching for it. Fingers curled around the handle, five elegantly manicured digits, the pinky of which was adorned with a diamond the size of a robin's egg.

"Berkeley."

* * *

The voice was smoky and dark, like a single-malt whiskey that had been aged to perfection. Hearing it, Floyd Lawton felt the ends of his lips curl into a sneer. He took a drink from his water bottle while he contemplated what to say to the one time Gotham playboy. Berkeley thought he was his boss because he was offering him a boatload of money for this special little job of his, but all Matthew Berkeley Jr. really was in Lawton's mind was a cold-hearted bastard with way too much time and money on his hands, a vicious temper and an empty place in his chest cavity where his heart _should_ have been.

Matthew Berkeley made a bastard like Lex Luthor look like a saint.

And in Floyd Lawton's mind? That was saying something.

The only reason he'd even taken this gig was because Berkeley was offering him twice his regular fee. Even so, there was a part of him, a deep and dark part of him he did his best to keep separate from his professional side that wanted to tell the man to take his money and shove it as far up his ass as he could. There were few things that a man like him found appalling. There were even fewer things he wasn't willing to do. There'd been few jobs he'd found distasteful and refused to do. Over the course of his career he'd done many unsavory things. He'd hurt people he knew were good and decent. He'd killed people who hadn't really _deserved_ to die.

This job was one of those jobs where he was seriously regretting having taken the damn thing simply because of the twinges to the conscience he'd thought he'd killed years ago.

Yet this man's desire to see his daughter killed was one of the few things Lawton found to be sickening. As a father (of a daughter at that), he couldn't understand this man's hatred for his kid. Having a boy or girl made no difference in his mind. Your kid was your kid and you should love 'em no matter what, or who they were. Matthew Berkeley didn't believe in that particular philosophy (or someone had forgotten to teach it to him). He had this backwards idea that a child's worth was based upon its gender. While it was true that boys were the ones who commonly carried on the family name and would see the bloodline carried into another generation through the children they might have, it did not mean that girls had any less significant role to play. A family line continued through girls as much as boys. That Berkeley couldn't see that made him an idiot in Floyd Lawton's mind.

Course, he thought the man was an idiot for more reasons than just that one.

Raya Kean (she'd dropped the Berkeley name he'd learned when she'd been ten) was already leaps and bounds ahead of most others her age. She was twenty-three, a Special Agent for the GCPD, had been among the top of her graduating class at Gotham Prep, was in the top percentile at Gotham University, active in dozens of organizations and charities, and well on her way to becoming a Doctor of Psychology.

If she was _his_ daughter, he'd be one right proud papa.

Hell, he could only hope his own kid turned out half as well as Berkeley's had. Not that Berkeley had actually had much of a hand in Agent Kean's upbringing. And there was where Lawton suspected that some of the reason for Berkeley's hatred rest. It'd been Bruce Wayne and Commissioner Gordon who'd raised the girl. They'd installed values and principles in the kid that Berkeley didn't find important. They'd taught her that her worth went beyond marriage and babies.

They'd taught her how to tell the _truth_.

And the _truth_ about Berkeley's dealings in the underbelly of Gotham's society was the last thing that the man didn't want the chit spilling.

_Any more than he wants her telling the world about who really murdered her mom, _he thought as he capped the bottle and set it beside him.

"I couldn't get a shot off," he finally said in a rasp. "There was an unexpected variable that got in the way before I could get the shot off."

The _variable_ was named the Red Hood. Sure, Lawton knew he coulda plugged the kid right along with the girl. He'd had plenty of opportunities as the two had been arguing on the apartment balcony to put a bullet in him. But he wasn't being _paid_ to kill the Hood.

And Floyd Lawton didn't do anything for _free_.

Silence was the response on the other end of the phone.

* * *

Matthew Berkeley Jr. knew silence was a more useful intimidation tactic than about a hundred other types of threats he could hurl at the man (and which he suspected would have about as much effect as a water hose on cutting through concrete). He let the silence echo for five seconds, ten. Then he finally spoke.

"I see." He took a puff from his cigar, held the smoke in for a few seconds, and then released it slowly, watching as it lazily curled towards the ceiling. "And how many times does this mark that you have been unable to kill my daughter?"

"It's the fifth time," came the sullen reply.

"The fifth time," Berkeley mused. "For a man of your skill and reputation, this inability to kill one young girl is," he paused. Knew the man's teeth gnashed and smiled. "Well, I must say that it is extremely disappointing. Just how do you intend to make up for your inability to fulfill your part of our bargain, Mr. Lawton?"

"I assure you that I will fulfill my part of our bargain," was Lawton's growled reply. "It is just going to take me longer than I anticipated. You did not tell me that she is always in the company of either one of Batman's protégés or lives with that hybrid freak."

"My whore of a daughter is always in the company of one of Batman's winged brats," Berkeley muttered. "As for the super-freak..." he trailed off, took another puff of his cigar. "Well, now that's something I did not know about. You are certain she is living with the cloned whelp?"

"Yes. I have the pictures to prove it."

Berkeley turned his chair, silently pensive. Through the window he could see the first streaks of color announcing dawn, the pale burn across the sky. It reminded him of blood. _Ellen's blood_, he recalled. It had spilled across the marble in much the same way, pooling in one huge, dark puddle beneath her lifeless body before slowly spreading out to encompass the majority of the floor. Berkeley rubbed the tips of his fingers over the ridged flesh by his eye as his anger began to simmer. There was only one solution to be had here, he realized as he stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. In Berkeley's mind, it was the most logical of solutions. How Lawton would take the news was a different matter, though.

"It would seem, Mr. Lawton, that we have a problem on our hands."

"Do we?"

"Oh, yes," Berkeley crooned in a deep baritone. "We do."

"And what problem do _we_ have?" Lawton asked. "And how do you want _me_ to rectify it?"

"Why that's easy." A smirk twisted one side of Berkeley's mouth. "I want you to kill Superboy."

Lawton was silent for all of twenty seconds. Then he barked a laugh. "You realize that you want me to kill a kid who has Superman's DNA in him, right?"

"Yes."

"I don't have bullets designed to kill a Kryptonian."

"You will," Berkeley assured him in a slippery purr. "Now, I have a few phone calls to make, a few…. _markers _to call in. While I am procuring what you will need, do make sure to keep an eye upon my daughter and her alien lover. I've already paid you a lot of money, and will be paying you quite a lot more once the job is done." He paused again for effect. "You wouldn't want me to start thinking that I have made a bad… _investment_, would you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Berkeley," Lawton replied in an equally soft, and dangerous tone. However, instead of being intimidated, Berkeley made a noise that said he found his threats to be utterly amusing. "Am I under orders to still kill your daughter should the opportunity present itself? Or am I to wait and kill her and her boyfriend at the same time?"

Killing his daughter would destroy Batman and that prick, Gordon. Killing his daughter and that abomination? Why that would tear apart Batman, Gordon, the winged brats and that idiot, Superman all in one go.

"Why, yes, Mr. Lawton. That is exactly what I want you to do," he cooed. "I want you to kill my daughter at the same time that you kill that inferior creation she's sleeping with."

"Fine," Lawton hissed. "But it'll cost you triple what you're already paying me."

"Done."

There was a _click_ and then silence.

Not that it mattered.

He was already reaching for the ledger-the little red one that contained the name of every man (or woman) who owed him a favor. There was only one man he could think of who had the clout and ability to procure the item he needed: Roman Sionis. He dialed the number and put the phone to his ear.

It rang three times.

"Roman," Berkeley said before the other man even had a chance to say hello. "How would you like to help me bring Batman and Superman to their knees?"

He heard a low sound, almost like a _hmm_. Then Sionis asked, "What have you got in mind, Berkeley?"

Berkeley just smiled as he explained his plan.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the fav/follow buttons. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!


	5. Bloodstained Hands

**A/N: Trigger warning: **This chapter has some violent themes and features a character death and illustration of child abuse.

**S/N:** Per a suggestion of a friend, I've split this chapter into two parts. From now on, all the chapters _should_ be a bit shorter *fingers crossed*

Please, if you like this story, click the fav/follow button.

* * *

_He_ always came late in the night, when her mind was its most vulnerable and her control at its very lowest. By day, she could deny, simply shut her mind off, willfully ignore or otherwise guard herself against the murky figure who stalked her as she slept. Sleep, as she well knew, had a power all its own. Even the strongest of minds just was not capable of avoiding the purveyor of the realm of nightmares.

Not for long, at least.

Raya was quite familiar with the personification of nightmares and dreams. She'd only been chased by Phobetor for the past twenty-one years of her life. Normally, at times of great duress, she would toss herself into a case in order to exhaust her mind to such a point that the dream weaver couldn't come. However Conner (nor Alfred) would hear of her becoming any more like Bruce and Dick than she already was. So it came as no surprise when Phobetor came to her, his smoke colored eyes as hard and cold as the man who'd she'd run away from. His vaporous laugh was still just as cruel. Helpless, Raya could do nothing as the cruel god again forced her to relive the moment where her life had been changed forever...

* * *

**Berkeley Estate**

_Fourteen Years Ago_.

The first shot wasn't fatal, so Ellen Rae Kean-Berkeley slowly turned from her attacker, trying to make for the grand staircase and the safety of her suite of rooms in the mansion's east wing. Raya watched from the upstairs landing as the monster lifted up his arm, saw the glint off the cold metal of the gun he held in one hand. She heard a scream she did not recognize as her own, then the crack of gunfire. For a brief second, she thought she could feel the fiery rip of the bullet as it tore into her mother's frail body. The force of the impact spun Ellen Rae completely around. There was another shot and her mother was falling, collapsing upon the small table in the middle of the entryway, upsetting the vase of roses-always red roses- so that they rained down upon her as she fell. With everything she had left, her mother crawled towards the stairs, towards sanctuary, a bloody trail in her wake the only evidence of the violence that had been perpetrated on this night.

Raya flew down the stairs and dropped to her knees beside the broken, battered figure with a tiny whimper. Her child-sized hands slid over her mother's abraded flesh, treating it like the most fragile of porcelain. Just a flutter of gently probing fingers that glided over fractured skin, searching and seeking out the worst of the damage. Again her mother tried to move, to push and pull her ravaged body towards the stairs. But Raya pushed her back down, murmured soothing, nonsensical words to her as she tried to figure out what to do.

Hands fisted then, much like the talons of a hawk, in the soft material of her thin cotton t-shirt, tugged with what little strength remained inside her mother's frail body. Raya leaned down in time to hear her mother breathe out one word.

"_Run_..."

Then her mother slid beneath the comforting, dark blanket of unconsciousness. Raya gently cradled her head in her lap, in hopes that it would reassure her, bring her some small amount of comfort and solace. She angled her head to look at the holes in her chest, blackened around the edges, still seeping blood. Her mother's eyes were closed, her face drained of all color except for the thin line of blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth.

She would live, all the rest of her life she would live with this image of her mother—bleeding and broken at the bottom of the grand staircase as the man who had done this circled them like a vulture waiting to peck at their carcasses. Even though fear gnawed at her, caused her heart to beat a hard tattoo against her ribcage, she managed to ignore the shadow threatening to consume her and reached to check the pulse in her mother's throat. It was weak, thready. Her mother was breathing, but it was a raspy gurgle at best.

"Hold on, Mama," she whispered, leaning close to her ear. "_Please_ hold on. Papa will be here soon. He will make you better."

Her mother's eyes fluttered open, and Raya saw they were glassy with pain.

"Raya..." her mother's voice was barely more than a thick whisper. "Is…too late, baby. Is…too late."

"No." Tears blurred her vision, fell unchecked down ashen cheeks. Anger invaded her soul, mixed with the weak salt of her grief and the white hot blaze of her hatred. "Mama, no, it's not. It's not too late. Just hold on." Her lower lip quivered. Then she whimpered, "_Please_, hold on, Mama."

"Sorry... baby..." Her mother shuddered in her arms. "So sorry…"

Desperation surged inside the nine-year-old. She prayed as she'd never prayed before, pleading with every deity she could think of. _She can't die. Please, she can't die. _But it was too late. Raya had never seen death up close and personal, but she was able to recognize its cold cruelty. She knew death was imminent by the hoarse clatter of her mother's breath, by the way that her pupils slowly fixed and dilated, and then by the way that she went limp in her arms. She thought she heard the breathing of one last, solitary word: "Run…"

And then her mother was gone. Raya stared at the lifeless body in her arms.

"No," she whimpered. Then, louder, "No!"

Too late. She was too late. She laid her mother down gently, buried her face in her hands, unable to look at the face that she'd loved, not willing to believe, to accept her mother was really gone. She was gone and there was nothing left of her but this still-warm, lifeless shell that suddenly wasn't her mother at all. Mind spinning, heart aching, stomach heaving, she pushed to her feet, and slowly turned towards the stairs.

_Run,_ her mother had said. _Run_ because the monster was going to come after her now. Run because she was not yet ten-years-old and nowhere near strong enough to fight this man on her own. _Run_ because only one man in all of Gotham could stand between her and him: _Batman_. She had only managed to go up the first two steps when a hand clamped over her arm, held her fast.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?"

The man whose face was inches from hers reached up to gently brush her dark curls from her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she didn't empty the contents of her stomach all over his polished wingtips. Then he turned his wrist and those slender fingers brushed across her cheek in what was supposed to pass for a loving caress.

Raya went cold to the marrow of her being.

"Well, Princess?" he questioned in that low, dark purr that said _and don't lie to me_. Then he added, "Don't you have an answer for Daddy?"

She'd never wanted Bruce more than at that moment. Fervently she prayed for him to come crashing through those huge oak doors and rescue her from this man who called himself her _daddy_. However, Bruce didn't come to her aide. Not this time. He couldn't since she'd not put out a signal in order to call him to her in a time of distress. She was all alone with this madman who'd hurt her if she wasn't careful. Raya lifted wide, fearful eyes to her father's face. One of his cheeks had scratches from where her mother's fingernails had scoured the smooth flesh. Pinpricks of blood dotted his cheek and pooled by the corner of his mouth. A mouth that she knew was cruel when it smiled and which smiled when he was being cruel. Both his hair and eyes were the color of melted chocolate. He looked like a modern day James Bond in his exquisitely tailored tuxedo, tall and slim, darkly handsome. However, this man was nothing like the mythical hero all little girls believed their daddies to be.

Oh no, this man was a villain—moderately less violent than the Joker, more sadistic than the Penguin and just as insane as both. Unlike either villain though, he hid his predatory nature behind a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication, beneath the vast wealth and social prestige that'd been granted him at the time of his birth. She thought about screaming for help, but there was nobody there who would come to her rescue. The servants were all huddling in their rooms and waiting for the monster to retreat to his wing of the mansion before they'd surface to help the little girl so in need of a hero to save her.

Fear bubbled in her throat, hot and bitter. It closed in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold. She opened her mouth, but what placating words she might have said, froze when she saw that _that_ look was in his eyes. That dead-eyed, predatory expression that told her he was just waiting for her to make a mistake.

Raya stood as still as a Grecian statue.

She made absolutely no sound whatsoever.

She knew she didn't dare if she had hopes of leaving this house _alive_.

His lips curled into that smile that Raya knew spelled trouble. Her heart pounded harder, faster. There were bands tightening around her head, around her chest. She struggled for control, for calm. If she wasn't careful, very, very careful, he'd kill her same as he'd killed her mother. Her eyes darted to the gun he still held and her fear escalated even more. She could smell it, that stench which she associated with terror. Raya knew fear could be primitive, mindless, much like the fear that a gazelle felt when being pursued across the plains by a cheetah. Instinct, however, told her there was more danger inside this one man than in all the predators that lived in the African Savanna. And she knew that there was a time for playing the hero, a time for giving into fear, a time for rolling the dice and taking your chances.

Even a nine-year-old could be taught when to hold 'em, be told when to walk away, and know when to run.

"Raya," he rumbled in that tone which told her his patience was wearing thin. "I'm only going to ask you this one more time. Where do you think you are going?"

"My room." The lie came so easily, so swiftly, it disgusted her. She hated lies, hated the hurt they could cause and the destruction they wrought. But because the lie had come so easily, and because it carried a ring of truth with it, she went with it. He simply stared at her, seeing the fear in her eyes and none of the hatred that was beneath. He yanked her to him so hard that her breath expelled on a quick hitching gasp.

"Why?"

"Why?" She blinked. "Why what?"

"Why are you going to your bedroom?"

She spoke without thinking—anger and grief and fear loosening her tongue and making her reckless. "'Cause it's my room."

"Watch your tone, Princess." He fingered the ends of her hair, causing her stomach to twist into knots. "I'm going to forgive you this one time for your lapse of judgment because I understand you are in shock, and that you're grieving for the tragic death of your mother." Those fingers tightened, jerking her head back and making her cry out. "But I will not tolerate any backtalk. You understand me?"

"You're nothing but a bully." She winced at the pain and struggled to keep calm. "A mean, nasty..." she cried out when he slapped her across the face. Hard enough to elicit a gasp and have tears spring to her eyes. The shock of it set her lower lip to trembling. She exerted what little energy she had to stopping it. Showing him any sort of weakness at that moment would be a costly mistake. He'd never struck her before tonight. So long as he had her mother to smack around there'd been no need. It was a clear sign of how things would be from now on between them.

"I have already told you to watch your mouth, Raya. I do not like repeating myself."

Raya stood there staring at this man who was supposed to protect and shelter her, to love and adore her because she was his "little princess." All she found herself wondering in that moment was about what she'd done to deserve this man as her father. It couldn't be because she wasn't "good enough." Uncle Jim loved and adored her. He wanted to adopt her, to give her a home and the things "all kids deserved." Even Bruce wanted her. So why didn't this man? What had she'd done that was so despicable that her own father hated her as he did?

Why wasn't she good enough just as she was?

The shock of the smack, coupled with the grief of her mother's death and his disinterest, his hatred and continued rejection of her caused something dark and dangerous to snap to life inside Raya. With a burst of pure fury she attacked him, beating at him with her tiny fists and kicking at his shins with her bare feet until he let her go with a curse. Then she did the only thing she could think to do.

She ran…


	6. Her Kryptonian Protector

A/N: Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

There was a scream ripping through her head as she shot up in bed. It wasn't her own scream, though, oh no. It was her father's, a howl of unmasked _rage_. With her breath sobbing in her throat and her heart nearly leaping out of her chest, Raya scrambled out of bed, taking her blanket with her as she ran to the bedroom door. She raced from the room, trembling with terror and a bone-deep chill wracking her body from head to foot. She fled down the hallway as if her father were chasing after her.

For a moment, just a moment, she thought she felt her father's fingers stroke across the sensitive flesh along the back of her neck, tangle in the strands of her hair. She stifled a shriek and twisted into the kitchen. Her chattering teeth sounded loud to her in the quiet confines of the hallways. She imagined that it must have seemed five times as much to the man dozing on the couch in the front room while an episode of _M.A.S.H_ played on the television.

"You can't run from me, Princess," she heard her father say. "You can't hide."

Raya swallowed a sob and made her way into the living room. Instinct brought her to the man, the _only_ man who she wanted to make her feel safe and secure. Conner had all of twenty-five seconds before his arms became full of trembling, weeping woman.

"The hell...?" he muttered groggily even as her scent, jasmine and nerves wafted up to tickle his nostrils, awakened his senses. "Babe?"

Raya curled against him and whimpered. "Ju-just hold me, Conner."

Conner angled his head to look at her. He could easily make Raya out in the early predawn light, but even if he'd not been able to, he would have known her by her scent, her shape, by the feel of her stretched out atop him.

"What is it? Did something happen?" he shifted her to the side so he could sit up. "Did Tim..."

She coiled around him like a snake. "Do-don't," she entreated in a small voice. "Do-don't go. Ju-just hold me. Ple-_please_, just ho-hold me."

"Jesus, you're like an icicle, babe." He folded her into his arms, trying to impart some of his warmth to her, trying to find his scattered wits and soothe her fragmented nerves. There was only one person (besides her father) who could rattle her quite this much. "Did Jason call you? Damn it!" he snarled before asking, "Did he send you a text message? An E-mail?"

"No, no, no." She burrowed into him. "It was the dream."

A bit of his tension eased at her words, but not by much. Her dream-_no_, he instantly corrected. This was not a _dream_. This was a memory that was way more devastating than any simple _dream_ ever could be. He angled his head to look at her.

"You dreamt about the night your mom was killed?"

"Yes." She sniffled and Conner felt something warm and wet roll down his shoulder. He felt his heart weep for the pain Raya was in. He stroked her back in slow, soothing circles, and just allowed her to speak. "I just cannot rid myself of the memory of what my father did that night. No matter how hard I try, I just can't make myself forget about what happened. I keep asking myself about what I could have done differently, about how I could have stopped him..."

"Stop it. Stop it now." He stroked his hand over the cap of her hair, the long line of her back. "Raya, baby, there's nothing _you_ could have done to have changed what happened that night. You were just a kid for chrissakes."

"I know, Conner," she whispered against his throat. "I know I was just a kid. But..."

"No, no _buts, _woman," he interjected firmly. "You were _nine_. _Nine_. There's no way in hell that you could have stopped what happened."

"I'm the one who was supposed to be protecting her."

"_You_ weren't the one who should have been protecting your mom for all the years that you did."

He didn't add, _because your mom was supposed to be the one protecting you_. It wasn't necessary to remind her about how she'd been the mother rather than the child. She already knew those things.

"_Please_, just hold me." Her head lifted, and her breath came wheezing out from between her teeth. "I'm so cold right now, Conner."

"I know you are, baby, I know." He gently thumbed away the moisture staining her cheeks. He then wrapped her more tightly in the blanket, and pulled her close. "Have you ever talked with anybody about your dream? Somebody professionally, I mean?"

"You mean a therapist?"

"Yeah."

"Bruce and Uncle Jim had me see one right after my mom was murdered. They and the courts insisted upon it." Her breath billowed across his throat. "I stopped going after the first session though."

"Why did you only attend one session?" Then, "Why did they let you get away with only going to one session?"

"Why do you think, meathead?"

Conner grimaced as the answer came to him.

"Crane," he muttered. "He's the shrink you saw."

She tucked her head beneath his chin, breathing out a, "Yes," on a tiny sigh. "I liked Crane at first. He was quiet and refined and very understanding of my particular phobias and dysfunctions."

"But?" Damn he hated that word. There was never anything good that followed it.

"But I knew something was not right after our session ended. He seemed almost too... _eager_ to have me as a patient. Even at nine I knew he wasn't..." she paused. "Well, _sane_."

"Considering Crane is a verifiable lunatic with a long list of his own phobias and dysfunctions," Conner drawled. "I can see how you figured out he was nutso."

"Crane _is_ a good Psychologist," she informed him gently. "No matter what sort of fiend he's allowed himself to become, it does not take away from the fact that Jonathan Crane is still a skilled Psychologist."

"Yeah, that's because when the Scarecrow is not in control, Jonathan Crane is a much different man."

"Yes, and he's actually a good doctor during those moments of lucidity."

"They are just infrequent moments."

She sighed. "Sadly."

Conner was silent a moment before asking, "What I don't understand is why you've never seen anybody else? You of all people know that you can't keep things like this locked up inside. How you've even managed to keep it together for all these years is beyond me..."

"The only person I have ever been able to tell the complete truth about what happened the first years of my life," she said on a shuddering breath chalk full of regret, "is you, Conner. And," she added after a small pause, "it took you pushing me into admitting that I loved you before I was finally able to work up the courage to even be able to share the truth with _you_."

It had been the condition she'd set for agreeing to become his girlfriend. She'd told him that if after she showed him the parts of her that weren't all that pretty that he still wanted to be with her, she'd say yes. Seven months, one week and three days later and he still wanted to be with her. He'd vowed then to take care of her, to protect her, to help her finally heal from all the traumas she'd endured. He still was doing everything in his power to fix each and every one of those parts inside her that were broken. He turned his head, and rest his lips against her brow.

"I understand why you've never talked with Dick or Tim about what happened, but why have you never talked with Bruce or your uncle about what happened?"

"Uncle Jim would only have blamed himself for not interceding sooner and Bruce has enough demons," came the response he'd expected to hear. "I won't add mine to his pile."

"I can't imagine Bruce's accepted your reasoning for why you won't tell him about what happened happily." He rubbed her back, her hip. Jesus, would she ever feel warm to him again? "Bruce doesn't remind me of someone who would willingly accept_ I-don't-want-to-tell-you-about-this-because-you-have-enough-demons-of-your-own_ as a reason for why you wouldn't tell him the truth."

He felt her lips twitch against his throat. "I told him that I didn't remember everything that happened that night. Said that I had psychogenic amnesia caused by the emotional trauma I'd endured."

He snorted a laugh. "Yeah, and if he bought that I have the London Bridge and the Eiffel Tower for sale cheap."

"He never pressed the issue."

"He probably figured you'd either tell him or someone close to you eventually."

"Probably," she said on a wide yawn. "And he thought right. I told _you_. However, I don't have any plans whatsoever to tell him, Tim, Uncle Jim or Dick about what really happened the night my mother was murdered. My reasoning for why still apply. I won't take away the happy memories that Tim, Dick and Bruce have of their families. And I won't heap another layer of guilt on my uncle's already overloaded shoulders."

Conner ran a hand over her hip, a frown knitting his brow. _Once things quiet down I will work on getting her to see someone professionally, _he vowed silently._ This can't go on. Every time she has this dream it takes a bit more out of her emotionally. For now... _he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, you need to get some more sleep. You've got class in the morning."

Not that he planned to wake her in time for her to make that class. But Conner didn't tell her that, though. She'd only set up a howl about how she couldn't afford to miss class time. Raya was silent for all of thirty seconds. Then she said, in a voice that so reminded him of a scared little girl that it ripped him apart, "I don't want to go back into Tim's room. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to sleep alone." She paused before then whispering, "I'm afraid the dream will come back if you're not there to hold me."

"You don't have to go back to Tim's room and you don't have to sleep alone." Then he added, his tone intentionally flippant to try and soothe away the fear he knew was still crowding in on her, "but you're gonna be the one to explain to him about why it is you're sleeping on top of me in nothing but my t-shirt."

"Easy," she droned on a yawn. "I'll tell him I bought you at a silent auction and am testing out how well you function as a mattress."

He chuckled lightly as he settled her more comfortably against him. Long after her breathing evened out with sleep, he remained wide awake, watching for some small sign or clue that her memories were again going to rise up and haunt her. He finally allowed himself to drop off just as the sky began to lighten with the approaching dawn.


	7. Brothers and Sisters

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

Raya woke with sunlight sliding over her face, and she awoke alone. Well, she awoke _somewhat_ alone, she realized, an impish smile tugging at her lips. The eyes she could feel peering down at her told her that she wasn't as _alone_ as she originally thought she was. Clearly Tim was up and doing his best to puzzle out why she was sleeping out here on the couch instead of in his bedroom like she usually would be. Well, she'd happily explain it to him. _After I have a little fun with him, first_, she decided. She hid a mischievous grin as she counted to ten. Then she launched herself upright, grasped Tim by the front of his t-shirt and yanked for all she was worth. It wasn't, she realized a minute later (and only after she and Tim ended up half sprawled on-off the couch), the most brilliant plan she'd ever had.

But damn it was funny.

She started giggling and quickly found she couldn't stop. Soon the entire apartment echoed with the sounds of her spiraling mirth.

"I'm glad _you_ are finding this to be so funny," Tim muttered as he rubbed the back of his head. "I've only got a lump on the back of my head from where it met the floor and dozens of other bruises creeping over bruises that I already had."

She tilted her head to look at him, a silly grin on her face. "Oh, c'mon, Timmy," she teased. "Ya gotta admit that it's a _little_ bit funny."

He snorted before shifting into a handstand. Krypto, having been rudely awoken from his nap by the commotion, ambled over to investigate. His ears popped up and his head canted to the side at the sight of Tim walking on his hands. Then the superdog just _whuffed_ a sigh before heading back to the comfy place he'd found for himself in front of the fireplace. Tim angled his head back to flash a lopsided grin at Raya.

"Pretty clear what he's thinking," he joked.

"Yeah," she said as she slid onto the floor. "He's thinking you're nutso."

"I'm not the only one who he's thinking is nuts."

She snorted. "I'm not the one who is walking around on my hands."

A soft bark eloquently displayed Krypto's agreement. Tim chuckled before dropping to his feet and padding off into the kitchen. "I made some peppermint tea while you were asleep. I figured you might like a mug once you woke up."

_That was sweet of him_, she thought as she folded the blanket. That Tim was being very kind and very gentle, and acting like everything was all hunky dory gave her exactly the comfort she needed from him at that moment. Especially since the waves of embarrassment came soon as he was out of sight. She'd absolutely fallen to pieces last night. She'd run to Conner like a hysterical child- sobbing, shaking, incoherent, and absolutely pathetic. She hadn't been able to deal with the emotional floodgates, and had come looking for someone- looking for _Conner_- so that he could save her from the monsters that were chasing after her. She, who prided herself on her strength and courage, who'd faced down the Joker and Bane without an ounce of fear, had come crying to her big, strong boyfriend because she'd been petrified of the things bursting out of the closet.

_You're pathetic_, she told herself in disgust. _You allowed Jason to tear down every wall that you have erected. You allowed him to rattle you._ The fear Jason had invoked had stripped away everything she was, everything she'd become and left her as little more than a coward scared of her own shadow. It wasn't something she planned to allow to happen ever again. Nor was she going to continue sitting here and wallowing over something that was said and done. It was not her style, and not her way. Nor was it what Bruce had taught her to do in moments of fear. _Fear rises, girl. So get off your ass._

She got up, walked around the couch, and entered the kitchen. Tim was leaning against the sink and drinking orange juice (from the carton she saw) while waiting for his Poptarts to finish toasting in the toaster oven. _Oy_, was her only thought. Tim's diet was absolutely atrocious whenever Alfred, Mrs. Mac or her weren't making sure that the teen hero was eating well balanced and home cooked meals.

"Let me take a shower and get dressed," she said while handing him a glass from the cupboard, "and then I will make you a proper and nutritious breakfast, Tim."

He flashed her one of his lopsided grins. "Are you saying strawberry Poptarts aren't part of a proper and nutritious breakfast?"

"I'm saying that a guy who spends his nights running around Gotham in order to stop bad guys from hurting innocent people deserves to have a hot breakfast made for him," she retorted before she headed towards the bathroom. She made it two steps before she found herself ensconced in Tim's arms.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Nix," he spoke gently, his hands smoothing themselves up and down her back in warm, soothing circles. "I know Jason has ripped open all the wounds you have inside you. I know that you're feeling raw and vulnerable right now. It's okay."

She burrowed against him, tucking her head under his chin (_when did he get taller than me_? she found herself wondering) and cinching her arms around his waist. She breathed in his scent- the spicy aroma of his aftershave mixing with the clean scent of the soap he favored, and was instantly soothed by it.

"It's not okay," she told him after a few minutes. "_I'm_ not okay." She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. "But I will be."

His lips crooked at the corners. "Still not telling Bruce or Dick about what happened, are you?"

She made a face. "I'm not gonna tell Dick, no. It will only piss him off and push him into confronting Jason. I don't want that. As for Bruce?" She harrumphed. "I have a feeling that Bruce already knows about what happened and is simply waiting for me to show up at the Manor in order to interrogate me about it."

He snorted a laugh. "That sounds totally like Bruce."

"Considering that I know he has security cameras all over my apartment, yeah."

One brow lifted. "Bruce has cameras all over your apartment?"

She nodded. "There's one in the security light out on the balcony, actually."

Both eyebrows forked at that bit of information. Not that it came as much surprise. Overly paranoid and rigidly cautious were but two faucets of Bruce Wayne's personality. And Tim knew that when it came to the people that he cared about, the man could be downright fanatical in his attempt to keep them safe.

"Is that why you led Jason out onto the balcony?" he asked her. "Because you knew Alfred would be at the Batcomputer and monitoring all activity going on in the city and would tell Bruce you were in trouble?"

She made another face. "No... that's not _exactly _why I led him out onto the balcony."

"Then why did you go out onto the balcony?"

She tucked her head back beneath his chin before saying, "I knew Conner was nearby and that he'd hear me yelling and would come to investigate what the problem was soon as he heard me."

"It's pretty awesome having a guy with supersonic hearing as your boyfriend, huh?"

He felt her jolt of surprise and just barely got his chin out of the way before the top of her head slammed into it.

"You _knew_ we were dating?" she squeaked. "How?" Then she demanded, "And why didn't you say something to either of us? We've been in agony for _months_ about how to tell you that we were seeing each other!"

"Well," he said slowly. "It's kinda obvious your best friend is dating your sister when he starts _smelling_ like her."

She angled her head back to look at him. "Conner started _smelling_ like me?" she drawled. "_That's_ how you figured out we were a couple?"

He gave her a playful grin before saying, "C'mon, Nix, jasmine is not the manliest of smells on a guy." He heard her scoff and couldn't resist pointing out, "The only way a guy ends up smelling like that is if he's had his girl snuggled up against him. And since you are the only girl I know who has that particular smell..." he trailed off, waggled his eyebrows at her.

Raya merely rolled her eyes at his bit of (purely male) logic. "It doesn't mean we were dating, little bird," she informed him in a tone as dry as sand.

Tim just snorted. "Yeah, whatever you say, Nix."

"It doesn't!" she insisted with a frown. "It just means that at some point in time that Conner had physical contact with me and that my scent somehow managed to rub off on him."

"Well, there's also the fact that he's wearing the jade pendant I gave you two Christmases ago."

"Given for luck," she pointed out. "You guys were going on a dangerous mission…"

"-and that you were sleeping on top of him last night in nothing but his t-shirt," Tim continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"You weren't here to cuddle with," she muttered crossly. "And I didn't think to pack clothes before leaving my apartment."

"Well, there's also the fact that _you_ have his initials inked on the inside of _your_ right wrist while he has _yours_ on the inside of _his_."

"Oy," she mumbled as her face colored prettily. "I warned him that getting our initials tattooed anywhere on our bodies would be an instant tip off." She grimaced. "So... " she coughed lightly. "Who else knows about Conner and I being together if you've known about it?"

_And apparently known for quite a while_, she added silently.

"Bruce since he pretty much knows everything," he couldn't help but tease her. "But other than that? Just me I imagine."

She darted a glance at his face, tried to glean what his thoughts were about her dating his best friend, but found his thoughts were closed to her. She felt a pang of guilt for not having told him sooner about them being a couple.

"We really did mean to tell you about us a lot sooner than this, Timmy," she offered lamely. "We just..."

"Needed some time to sort things out between you," he finished for her. He smiled down into her upturned face. "I knew that, Raya. And while it bugged me at first that neither of you trusted me enough to tell me you were dating, I understand why you didn't. Same as I understand why you haven't come out and told everybody else that you are dating. You both tend to be very private when it comes to your personal lives."

"Yeah," she said on a sigh.

He jostled her playfully. "I also know that this is a pretty huge step for _you_, personally." When she merely looked at him questioningly, he said, "Conner is the first guy, outside the male members of the Batfamily that you have ever let around those Batman-like defenses you have erected around your heart."

"I never imagined I'd meet a man I'd want to trust my heart too," she told him honestly.

"You didn't imagine that anybody but _us_ could love you."

"Well, I hadn't anticipated a man like Conner Kent coming into my life and changing it." Her lips tilted up at the corners into a shy smile. "He showed me someone _other_ than my adorably nerdy little brother can love me. And," she added while he snickered, "he taught me that it's okay that I love them, too."

"He needs_ you_ as much as you need him."

"I know. And I gotta admit it's quite intoxicating to know a man like Conner can _need_ someone like me."

"Bart's gonna be totally crushed when he finds out you're dating Kon." At her inquisitive look, he sighed. "Please tell me that you knew about his crush on you?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I never had a clue that Pulse had a crush on me." Then her face softened and her cheeks warmed with pleasure. "It's sweet that he did have a crush on me, though."

"Does," he corrected. "He still has a crush on you. And he's gonna be so devastated when he finds out that you are with Kon."

"Well, he can cheer himself up by reading all the slash fiction about you and Conner that is posted on the internet."

Tim looked at her. "Say wha?"

She sniggered at his stupefied (and rather adorably horrified) expression.

"Oh, c'mon now, Tim," she teased. "Don't tell me that you aren't aware of the websites out there and dedicated to the beauty of the love affair between Robin and Superboy?"

"Uh, clearly not," he groused. "Care to fill me in here?"

"Why, it's just all the talk," she began in a dramatic voice that earned her a black look.

"Get to the point, Nix."

She merely smiled sweetly at him before chirping, "You and Conner are the most shipped Titans on the net. In fact, you should see some of the artwork these fangirls have come up with to pay homage to your love. How they even _know_ about what you two look like without your clothes on is beyond me..."

"Shipped?" Tim's brow knotted with his obvious confusion. "Where are they shipping us too? And how does this relate to us being featured on the internet?"

Raya chortled. "Not that kind of ship, silly. I mean ship as in being a couple. Yanno, _romantic_. Like he and I are... or like you and Ariana."

Silence was her response. One look at his face showed that he was struggling with processing the idea that anybody would ship him with his best friend. Then he looked at her, a suspicious glint in his eye before asking, "You're kidding, right? There's really no such websites out there with no such stories or pictures featuring Kon and me as the stars, right?"

"Wrong, little birdie," she gurgled. "This is a massive online community. And you and Conner are but _one_ of the favorite pairs that these fangirls fawn over, actually."

"Who are some of the others?" Tim found himself asking despite his every intention to just forget she'd ever mentioned the subject.

"Wally and Dick is another major favorite as is Bruce and Clark, Bruce and Dick and Bart and Jamie. Oh, and there's a rising sub-culture that favors you and Jason as a pair, as well. Though," she admitted with a slight frown. "I'm not really sure how they justify that one considering how you and Jason are practically enemies."

Tim could only gape at her. "Nah-uh," he said with a shake of his head. "You're pulling my leg here, Raya. Tell me that there are no such websites out there with these stories and artwork posted on them."

"Want me to show you?"

"Yeah, I do," he groused.

Ten minutes later he was slamming the laptop lid and sitting there in a horribly uncomfortable silence. Raya took pity upon him, draping her arms around his neck and saying soothingly, "Being imitated in artwork is the highest form of flattery, yanno."

He shot a dirty look at her from over his shoulder. "How is it that _you_ know about this crap?"

"Who do ya think has been posting Robin's exploits on sites like these for the past three years?"

Tim flashed a horrified look at her. "You've been writing this crap?!" he yelped. "How could you?!"

She rolled her eyes and bopped him on the head. "I don't write _slash_, ya goofball. And I don't write about our _real_ lives."

"What do you write about then?" he grumbled as he rubbed where she smacked him.

"I write about our lives as crime fighters, mostly. I talk about the missions, the villains, the physical and emotional tolls that our professions take. I write about us being a family and all bonded by life changing events. It's my way of reminding the world that we're real people and that what we do comes with great consequences."

"But you write nothing about our real lives, right?"

"I use our codenames only and never write about our personal relationships or our lives outside the job."

Tim pondered that for a moment. He supposed there was no harm in what she was doing. It wasn't like she was revealing trade secrets or intimate details about who they were or what they did. Then a thought occurred to him and he flashed a suspicious look at her.

"Does Kon know about your writing hobby?"

She grinned at him. "Who do ya think beta's for me?"

Tim vowed to beat the snot out of his best friend when he got home.


	8. A Deadly Time

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.

* * *

"Mary Ainsworth, in her "Strange Situation" study, observed children who were between the ages of twelve and eighteen months as they responded to a situation where they are in a room with their…"

The woman's voice became a low buzzing sound in his ear. It reminded Conner of the long and lazy summer afternoons he used to spend on the Kent farm. They'd been some of the happiest days of his life. He'd sat on the front stoop for hours, watching as the world rolled by and listening to the bees as they flew about in their frenzied search for nectar. He figured if he closed his eyes and focused really hard that he could just about imagine himself back there. For a moment, just one, it worked. The lecture hall and the two hundred people surrounding him melted into a Kansas farmhouse awash in the final rays of the rapidly setting sun. For a moment, just one, he thought he could feel a warm wind blowing through his hair, caressing his moist flesh and wiping away the sweat dotting his upper lip. For a moment, just one, he could feel the blades of grass tickle his toes as he made his way across the yard to the old hammock he'd slung between the two trees he'd helped plant his first year at the farm. For a moment, just one, he could smell the burn of summer rising off the parched ground, taste the sting of it in the lemonade Ma made fresh that morning, and hear it in the silence of the approaching twilight.

For a moment, just one, he was lulled into a state of total peace and contentment. The tension drained completely from his body and his mind emptied of everything. Conner felt himself drifting towards sleep and jerked awake a second before dozing off completely. He blinked his eyes to clear the grit from them and focused upon the slide the teacher was indicating with her laser pointer.

"A toddler who is securely attached to its parent will explore their environment freely while the parent is present..."

Conner swallowed a groan and reached for the cup of coffee he'd intuitively known to bring with him.

_How the hell does she manage to sit through hours of this crap every week without passing out from boredom?_ he wondered as he took a sip.

It was a question he planned to ask his (sexier) half when he got home. _Home_. Now, there was something that gave him a moment's pause. _He_ had a _home, _he realized, the cup held halfway up to his lips. He, the guy who'd been made in a petri dish and essentially maturated in a tube, had a place he could call home. Despite knowing how ridiculous it was, he still felt sentiment, pure raw emotion, swamp him. It was stupid, he knew. He'd always had a _place to stay_ with the Titans or Ma Kent. And he'd lived in other places and with other people. However, Conner had learned (from Raya) that a _home _was about more than four walls. It was about _people_, about _family_. And that was a hell of a thing to a guy who hadn't _technically_ come into this world with any family of his own. Now he not only had Clark, Kara, Tim, Dick and the other Titans, but he had a _home_ and a girl (along with two rabbits, five fish, four rats, three black kittens, Sphere and Krypto) there waiting for him when he came walking through the front door.

Him.

Conner Kent.

Kon-El.

Project Kr.

Experiment 13.

Genomorph.

Kryptonian.

Clone.

Man.

He had a _family_.

_We're an unusual family,_ he thought as a sleepy grin tugged at his lips, _but we're a family nonetheless_. It was a heady, wondrous feeling. He revealed in it as he slumped down a bit more in the seat he'd managed to cop by the door. Again he tried to focus on the slide the woman at the front of the room was reading from but gave up after less than ten seconds. It wasn't that he found Psychology useless or boring. It was quite the opposite really. Understanding why people thought, felt and acted in certain ways aided him in not only understanding himself, but it helped him be the best superhero he could be. No, his main problem at that moment was that he could care less about sitting through a three hour lecture on _attachment theory_. Not after getting less than two hours sleep the night before.

The only reason he was attending the class in the first place was because of the woman he'd thoughtfully left sleeping at home. Raya was fanatical about things like school. She took her education even more seriously than she did her responsibilities as a crime fighter. She'd been that way since he'd met her. Part of that, he knew, was because both Bruce and Jim Gordon had made school a condition for her remaining in her role as the Fenix.

Most of it though was just Raya being her adorably nerdy self.

_Gonna owe me huge for sitting through this crap, babe,_ he told his absent girlfriend while stifling a yawn with his hand. He knew he'd do it again, though. When it came to Raya there wasn't much that he _wouldn't_ do to make her happy or keep her safe. _I even moved to Gotham because it's her home and her family all lives here. _Not that he really minded living in Gotham. Way he saw it; he got to spend more time with Tim and with Dick (when the former was in town) while living what constituted (for them) a normal life with Raya.

He glanced up at the clock. He figured Tim should know the truth about him and Raya by this point in time. He'd half expected his phone to blow up with demands for explanations soon as Tim found out they'd been holding out on him. That he hadn't been flooded with messages could only mean that his bud was waiting for him to get home before then busting his balls about keeping such a huge secret. It wasn't like they'd meant to keep things quiet for this long. _I wanted to tell him months ago, but didn't because I wasn't sure how_. There honestly wasn't much that he didn't share with Tim. Nothing had ever happened in his life that he felt was so personal that he just had to keep it to himself.

He'd told Tim how he felt about being a clone of both Superman and Lex Luthor (something that was tantamount to being the son of God and the Devil in his opinion), how he often wondered if he had a heart and soul (something Raya affirmed he possessed quite adamantly), his fears of ending up exactly like Luthor (cold, calculating, manipulative) and not being able to control his powers (something Tim assured him would never happen). Tim knew about how much he struggled with controlling his anger, his kryptonian powers. He knew about all of his insecurities and about how uncomfortable he felt in his skin.

They'd even talked about what it felt like to be held to the almost impossible standards that their respected mentors set for them.

_And Tim is doubly screwed because he not only has to live up to Batman's reputation and the expectations that Dick set as Robin, _he thought when he again started to doze off. _But he's also been forced to pay for the mistakes that Batman made during Jason's tenure as Robin, as well. _

Tim, much more than Dick, understood just how hard it was to live up to the larger than life images their mentors cast over the world. Being Robin and Superboy was great. It was awesome in fact. They were out there making a difference. They were helping to save lives. _But do something that upsets Batman and Superman and you will wish you'd never been born_, he thought with a grimace.

The class (thankfully) came to an end. Conner grabbed his stuff and more than happily left. As vastly amusing as it was to listen to Raya rattling off all that psycho mumbo jumbo, sitting through three hours of it had left him with nothing but a pounding headache. He was just crossing the quad when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he saw Barbara Gordon walking towards him.

"I wondered if I might run into you on campus," he said in lieu of a greeting. "Are you just leaving class?"

"I'm just going to class, actually." Her voice was that same smoky one Raya had. A smile trembled upon her lips as she stepped up to him. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Oh, you're as bad as Dick," she huffed good-naturedly. "I mean what are you doing here? I wasn't aware that you'd decided to attend Gotham University as a student."

"I'm not a student," he told her. "I came for Raya."

"Raya?" Her head tilted to the side. The deep blue stones at her ears caught the light and glinted. "Is she alright?"

"She had a long night. So I let her sleep and came to class for her."

It surprised him when her lips curved, almost affectionately. "That's a boyfriend-like thing to do."

"I'm not-" he broke off, sighed. God, he was tired of using that line. However, they hadn't talked about telling anybody but for Tim.

"Her boyfriend?" she finished. "Wrong."

"You're right. I am." Whatever came from this point on, if it upset Raya that he told her cousin that he was her boyfriend, he'd weather it. "I am Raya's boyfriend. I have been for seven months."

"Well, you surprise me, Conner."

"How so?"

She hitched the strap of her laptop bag up higher onto her shoulder before saying, "Well, I figured I'd have to go and drag the truth out of Raya."

He grimaced. "It's not that we didn't intend to tell everybody. It's just..."

"You were waiting to see what would come of things before you said anything to anybody."

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Yeah, pretty much." He flashed a small smile at her. "Just for the record, we have been discussing coming clean to the family for the last few months. There just never seemed to be a right time and place for such a conversation to occur."

"I can understand that." A group of students walked out of the building behind them, sounding like magpies as they chattered about upcoming exams and papers. Conner took hold of Barbara's arm and pulled her out of the way of the doors. "Just answer me one thing," Barbara requested once they were clear of the mob.

"Okay?"

"Is she alright?" When she saw his inquisitive look she sighed and said, "Raya went to class once with a bullet in her arm. So I know she wouldn't have missed her morning class unless she was seriously injured. Or," she paused, flinched. "Dead. So tell me… is she seriously injured? Because you wouldn't be here if she was dead."

* * *

On a rooftop across from the steel-and-glass lecture hall, a woman watched the duo through the scope of her rifle. Her thick lips curled into a sneer. How she would love to put a bullet in the dark haired man. _Abomination_. Hate and disgust festered in her soul. _You should never have been created_. _What was Mictlantecuhtli thinking in allowing something like you to be created? _Oh, the temptation to pull back on the trigger and test whether or not he could outrun a bullet was high. However, she banked it, telling herself that she had not been sent here to kill the aberration. No, she'd been sent here for the woman looking up into his disgusting face.

Her phone vibrated, alerting her to the possibility that she, Mictlan was about to be granted permission to add Barbara Gordon's name to her already extensive list of conquests. A hand, nearly as brown as the roof tiles reached down and picked the phone up. She slid her thumb across the screen in one smooth, and effortless motion in order to read the message sent her, hoping it was the one she'd been waiting for and not another one telling her to stand down. She grunted. Mictlan was tired of standing down. She wanted to be given the green light. She wanted to be told go, do. _Kill_. She read the text message through burning eyes.

_[Do it]_, the message read.

Short, simple and succulent.

She made a soft sound, much like that of a jaguar who'd caught the scent of her prey. Mictlan had been given the go. She'd been told do. _Kill_. A smile stretched across her full lips, illuminated a face covered by dozens of black lines etched permanently onto her skin. She set the phone back on the ground and reached for the M40A3 sniper rifle she'd bought special for this job. Anticipation had her belly quivering, her heartbeat quickening, her fingers tingling. She took a breath, just one. It was enough to stem the tidal wave of lust flooding through her.

Mictlantecuhtli had appointed Mictlan as his representative of the nine levels of the underworld. She was the trials that the fallen must pass in order to find peace in the afterlife. She brought the bones of her dead to Mictecacihuatl as a way to honor the deity for her role in Mictlan's earthly creation. Excitement peaked as she dropped a round into the chamber, heard the _click_ which told her that the moment had come. It was when time slow down and every thought, every action, seemed to last for an eternity, and yet only a second had elapsed.

Mictlan knew it was only a matter of waiting for when her target would turn her pretty little head towards her. Then she would take the shot, the only one needed in order to add Gordon's name to her list of conquests. The redhead was little more than one more step taken to achieving her goal of being the number one assassin in the world. Her index finger touched the trigger. All it would take was a simple squeeze. She took a split second to breathe, and then she instinctively and efficiently applied the appropriate amount of pressure.

The shot rang out over the square.

* * *

Conner went to tell Barbara about what had happened with Jason the night before but stopped when he heard the sound of a high powered assault rifle being fired. Instincts came alive and he hooked an arm around Barbara's waist, pulling the startled redhead out of the path of danger. Seconds later a slug slammed into the glass pane they'd been standing in front of, shattering it into a billion different pieces that sounded like hail as they rained down to the ground.

"Conner?" Barbara managed to gasp once the shock wore off.

"Sniper!" he gritted. "Stay down!"

The quad became pandemonium: shouts, screams, the people who'd been moving along to reach whatever destination they'd been heading now becoming a mindless mob, desperately afraid, horribly traumatized, running aimlessly, seeking any kind of safety before hell might again get visited upon them. A campus policeman who'd just happened to be driving by had the presence of mind to use his loudspeaker to try and restore order, to no avail. The bullet the shooter fired found a target, the upper thigh of a teacher who'd been standing behind the glass door, who screamed, clutched her leg, and dropped to the ground. Conner kept his body curved around Barbara's while searching the rooftops of the closest buildings for sign of the shooter. He stopped when he thought he caught a glimpse of a white dog with a red cape racing across the rooftop of Seoul Hall.

_Krypto_? confusion knotted his brow. _But I left you at home with_...

_Raya_.

Conner felt his blood run cold as realization dawned. He searched the crowd and spotted her instantly. She was at the edge of the parking lot and trying to work her way in his and Barb's direction. That the fool woman had no notion of the potential danger she was in was crystal clear. Not that she'd have cared. Conner heard a _click_ and knew the shooter was priming another round. He only had a few seconds at most to get to her.

_Time_.

It all came down to time. Everything, Conner realized, came down to time. Second, minute, or hour. All three were entities of the same linear property, and all of them came with different units used to measure their particular property. Knowing if you had seconds, minutes or hours could make all the difference in the world between a plan being a success, or a failure. Here, one second, barely the span of an indrawn breath, was going to make all the difference between Raya _living _or _dying_.

Fifteen seconds.

That was the amount of time he had in order to cover the distance between him and his woman.

He was already halfway across the quad when the shooter pressed down on the trigger for a second time.


	9. Secret's Out

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

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* * *

Conner caught Raya around the waist and spun, pitting himself between her and the assassin's bullet. He heard it whistle, loud as mortar fire, as it soared through the air. He felt it, hotter than an iron, as it whizzed by his ear. It found purchase in the thick branch of the tree right above them, raining bits of bark and sap down upon them. For a moment, just one, neither of them could do more than simply stand there. It was Raya who spoke first.

"Conner..." she murmured.

Whatever else she was about to say ended on a strangled gasp when Conner crushed his mouth to hers. For a moment, just one, he let himself take, let the storm of emotions that had surged inside him the second he realized she was in danger crash over them both. Everything around him ceased to exist for that moment. The only thing he could focus upon was the woman he held in the shelter of his arms. That unique flavor of her churned inside him, electrifying his nerves, frying his senses. His arms tightened so that her body was molded to his, and against his heart her heart pulsed and kicked until it matched his.

Exactly.

* * *

On the rooftop, Mictlan saw through the Schmidt & Bender telescopic scope how the second round she'd discharged had found purchase in a tree rather than the creamy flesh of her second offering. She released a stream of vitriolic curses and went to take aim again, but she couldn't get a clear shot of Kean. Not with the abomination curled around the petite woman like a protective barrier. No matter, her offering to Mictlantecuhtli was not Kean, anyway. It was the lovely redhead that the meta-freak had abandoned as soon as he realized that his pretty little _novia_ was in trouble. She swung the rifle back towards her intended target, but the pandemonium in the quad made getting a clear shot impossible. Then she heard a bark and caught a glimpse of white as a big dog with a red cape fluttering in the breeze launched itself towards the building upon which she was perched.

It was time to leave.

Mictlan must never be seen by those still walking the world of the living. She must never be caught. Those were the words that Mictlantecuhtli told her before he unleashed her upon the world. And she obeyed Mictlantecuhtli's every rule without question. She quickly stowed her rifle in its special carrying case before going inside and quickly descending the roof access stairs to join the mob gathered in the quad.

* * *

A discreet and thoroughly amused sounding cough echoed behind them, startling the couple completely oblivious to the world going on around them. "I'm glad you two weren't planning on keeping things a secret..." Barbara remarked dryly.

Conner groaned. He'd completely forgotten about her being there. He lifted his head and looked down into Raya's eyes. There was love and mirth shining back at him. However, it was the copious amounts of fear swirling in that verdant gaze that rattled him the most. It reminded him about how he'd nearly lost her less than two minutes ago to a bullet fired by an assassin he assumed had been hired by Matthew Berkeley.

"Jesus Christ, woman, have you lost what's left of your friggen mind?" His breath ragged, he buried his face in her hair, and struggled to quell the fear that was wracking his body with tremors. "Don't you recognize when _you're_ in danger?"

"Me?" she squawked. "They could have shot _you_, Conner. You! Or didn't you stop to consider that?"

"Bullet would have just bounced off me," he told her. "Whole Man of Steel thing, remember?"

She fixed him with a look so black that it was eerily reminiscent of Batman's. Then she growled, "They could still kill you, meathead."

He grinned at her, couldn't help it. "Not with a regular bullet they can't."

"And what if they were using a Kryptonite bullet, Conner? What then?"

"Ray…"

"For all that you are immune to most physical attacks, you are not invincible. You can, and have been killed before." A well of emotion rose in her throat, thickened her voice before she could swallow it back. "And I know it sounds…" she trailed off as the remembered grief and pain and horror rose up to choke her. "I'm _not_ losing you again. Do you understand me? I'm _not_ losing you again. I'll lock your ass up in the cave if it's the only way to keep you safe. So help me if I won't."

He did not doubt she wouldn't carry out her threat. Not for one minute did he think she wouldn't lock him up in the Batcave if she thought it was the only way to keep him from harm. She could be just as fanatical in her attempts to keep those she loved safe as Bruce.

"Babe," he said softly, reasonably. "You are worrying yourself over nothing. You are not in any danger of losing me."

Her fingers clenched in the folds of his sweatshirt. "Conner..."

"Raya," he said with some exasperation. "How many assassins do you know walk around with Kryptonite bullets in their back pockets?"

"Slade Wilson for one," the wretched woman retorted instantly. "And Shiva, Deadshot, Bronze Tiger, Cheshire and Shado just to name a few more."

"Bab-"

"And do you think that any assassin who is hired by my father won't have Kryptonite bullets provided? Or that Ra's al Ghul won't supply his League members with something that's capable of killing someone with your physiological makeup?"

"Ra's definitely has something planned for whenever he gets courageous enough to take on Conner or Clark," Barbara helpfully pointed out. "And if he doesn't, I'm almost certain that Talia will."

Conner shot a look at her that told the red-head in no uncertain terms that he did not appreciate her help any. Barbara merely smiled in that playfully mischievous way her cousin had.

"Maybe those assassins would come prepared," he allowed finally. "But..."

"Any assassin that is sent after you is going to come armed with whatever is necessary to bring you down, Conner," Raya gritted. "Knowing any weakness that an enemy or ally has is key to being prepared for any situations that could crop up when you're out in the field."

_I somehow_ _keep forgetting I am dealing with the female version of Batman here... _

Conner heaved a weary sigh. That Batman had trained his protégés to be prepared for anything was a testament to what his own life experiences had been. However, Conner also knew that it went way beyond just making sure that his children didn't make some of the same mistakes he had or learn some of the same lessons through the same painful ways. Batman's one mantra, beyond the golden rule about not killing, was to "fight smarter, not harder." Knowing everything one could about their enemy (or allies as she'd pointed out) eliminated the element of surprise. It allowed for a contingency plan to already be in place to cover that potential possibility of something happening. However...

"Babe..." he began but Raya instantly cut him off.

"Don't you _babe_ me, Conner Kent," she huffed. She angled her head back to look at him and he saw her eyes glittered with impatience as much as fear now. "I told you about what would happen if my father ever found out about us being together. I said that he'd target you as much as he would Dick or Tim. And I warned you that he'd likely come after you hardest simply because you _are_ you and he..."

A car screamed to a stop beside them, cutting off whatever the rest of Raya's statement was going to be. Commissioner James "Jim" Gordon leapt from the driver's side before the engine even had a chance to finish sputtering and tore around the vehicle to yank his daughter into a fierce hug. When he stepped back a second later, his eyes were flashing blue fire and his face was set in a way that told Conner that the older man was in what Raya commonly called _Cop Daddy_ mode. Conner had not had much of a _paternal_ figure in his life until Jonathan Kent had come along. Even then, though, Pa Kent wasn't so much a _dad_ to him as he was a (much needed) stable presence in his life. Even Clark wasn't a _dad_ to him. Not in the way that Jim Gordon was to Barbara and that both he and Bruce were to Raya.

"Are you kids alright?" Gordon demanded.

"We're fine, Dad," Barbara replied in a calm and soothing voice. "Conner got Raya and me to safety while Krypto went after the shooter."

That Gordon didn't find it strange how a _dog _had been sent after an unknown assailant with a high-powered assault rifle was a testament to how much crap he'd seen and heard in his years as a cop. Most people knew that Krypto was far more than just a _dog_. Those who didn't? Well, they just went along with it because this was Gotham and stranger things were known to have happened in this city. Gordon ran a hand over his face.

"So the reports were true? Shots were fired?" He glanced first at Barbara and then Raya. "And which of you was the intended target this time?"

Conner hid a smile. Clearly, _Cop Daddy _had been in this particular predicament before. He knew his girls being present when a shooter opened fire wasn't purely coincidental. Whoever the shooter was, they'd been hired with the singular purpose to kill one or the both of them. You didn't work in the criminal field without pissing a few people off, though. Conner (as well as Gordon) knew that hiring an assassin to eliminate a particular problem was just the way many in the criminal set tended to operate.

"Dad..." Barbara began but more police cars, their sirens bleating, screeched to a halt and ended whatever she was going to say. Detective Harvey Bullock, as well as a dozen other uniformed officers emerged from the cars, hands near their holsters and bodies at the ready. Soon as Gordon saw his cavalry had arrived, he flipped from _Cop Daddy _into _Police Commissioner_.

"Ferguson, I want you to take a handful of men and work on crowd control," he snapped in a cool, crisp voice.

"You got it, boss," Ferguson stated. He signaled for a handful of men to follow him and loped off towards the center of the quad.

"Harvey, I want you to take Markinson and Smith and do a scan of the Seoul building. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

"Right," Bullock said.

"Richards," Gordon barked. "You and Lee take Berkeley Hall. You spot anything out of the ordinary you radio for help. Nobody needs to be a hero here. You got me?"

"Yes, sir," they replied.

Gordon finally back turned to them.

"Now, as for you three..."

* * *

University Street, especially at this time of the morning, was crowded with students racing to and fro from one of the four buildings that lined the quad. Mictlan lost herself in the sea of screaming people, quickly becoming just another terrified soul searching for cover from the menace who'd just fired two rounds into their midst. She was deeply vexed over her failure to reap either the bones of Raya Kean or Barbara Gordon. The fault for her failure she, of course, laid upon the broad shoulders of the creature who currently had his arms wrapped protectively around his pretty _novia_. She'd not only make him pay for his existence, but his interference in her carefully crafted plan. Oh, she'd find a way to kill him.

Even Superman could be killed, after all.

One just had to have the means of accomplishing such a deed. Mictlan's fleshy lips curled as she made her way across the quad. Her phone vibrated and she pulled it from her pocket, knowing who the caller was without glancing at the ID. She slipped into an alcove between two buildings and pressed the answer button.

"I am displeased, Mictlan," she heard Berkeley say. "You promised to kill both my niece, Barbara Gordon and my daughter." There was a pause. "And you have managed to do neither."

"_Fue sin querer_," she said politely. "It was not an intentional slight, I assure you, Señor Berkeley. The metafreak managed to rescue _su hija y sobrina_."

"Superboy rescuing my daughter and niece does not please me," Berkeley rasped. There was a minute pause. Then he gritted, "That metafreak has become a thorn in my side, Mictlan. I desire it to be removed."

"Mictlan will gladly remove this throne for you, Señor Berkeley. She just needs an item..."

"Kryptonite bullets," he interjected impatiently. "Yes, I am well aware that they are needed in order to deliver your coup de grâce. Trust me." His voice was a dark baritone. "You will have them."

Then there was a _click_, and the line went dead. Mictlan allowed the rudeness to pass. As long as Señor Berkeley provided her with the bullets she needed in order to give death to the abomination, she'd allow his behavior. She pocketed her phone as she blended into the crowd once more. Instantly, she was swallowed up by the crowd, just another woman in a Gotham University hoodie and sweats with what might have been her art portfolio in her hand.


	10. And the Doctor is in

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

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* * *

She was speaking to one of the asylum's inept guards (he vaguely recalled the man's name to be Gibbons) at the security desk when he spotted her. He might not have noticed the woman at all, focused as he was upon getting back to his _office _(he so hated the word _cell_), if it wasn't that he heard her laugh echoing throughout the transit area. He thought at first that she was a small child laughing gaily after having been given a promised treat. One surreptitious glance over his shoulder however had showed him that this young lady had long since left the dark years known as _childhood_.

_"_Who is she?" he heard _him_ simper in his ear. "She's quite... _interesting_."

_I do not know who she is,_ Dr. Jonathan Crane replied, lucent eyes narrowing in speculation.

"We need to find out."

Crane quite agreed with his other half. He told himself that his interest in her was purely a professional one. It wasn't as if the young lady was a raving beauty (not that it would have mattered to him if she was or wasn't), a rich heiress (though he _was_ looking for another benefactor to fund his research) or some well-known researcher worth his time and attention (and of those there were very, very few). Yet, Crane found that he couldn't regulate his interest in the woman to something derived purely from a professional interest.

Something about her was just... _alluring_.

Oh, he assumed the girl was lovely enough. Her hair reminded him of spilled ink. Dark and curling, it only added a touch of dramatic flair against skin like fresh cream. Her dress, a deep shade of blue with a crimson undertone, clung to her supple frame. The needle-thin heels she wore made her legs seem incredibly longer than they were, and the simple, tasteful emerald stones she wore displayed a taste for simplicity. She was exceptionally young (Crane judged her to be no more than twenty-three or four at most), oozed with sophistication and class, polish and good breeding.

She all but shimmered with _mystery_.

He was... _interested_ in her, he realized with a slight start. His body was humming, singing, tingling with sensations that were really quite... _delicious_. There was an unusual heat cascading through him, warming his blood and electrifying his senses. Silvery wisps of light shot out from his pounding heart, filled the vast caverns of his superior mind. He was drawn to the woman much as a moth was drawn to a flame. It hit him that he was experiencing that state most anthropologists and psychologists defined as _attraction_. He was being drawn by biological forces towards this woman because they shared a similar interest (psychology) and desired to form an interpersonal relationship with her because of a shared proximity (the asylum). Yes, it all made sense to him now.

He was finally experiencing that elusive state that'd been so long denied him.

And he found it to be a heady, intoxicating, and _liberating_ feeling.

It was a sensation that had the _Scarecrow_ scurrying to the far recesses of his mind with a low, moist hiss.

Crane recalled how his first (and only) experience with attraction had been a complete and utter disaster. He'd developed a schoolboy crush upon a classmate, Sherry Squires, and foolishly asked her to attend a costume party with him. She'd agreed, but only so that her boyfriend, Bo Griggs could play a despicable prank upon him. _Now there is a fond memory_, he thought, a smug smile twisting his thin lips. Not only had it been the first time he donned what would become his trademark mask and vestments, but it also became the first time he allowed the _Scarecrow_ the freedom to do what _he,_ himself could not. The _Scarecrow_ taught Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs a lesson for their cruel... _treatment_ of him. A lesson which had put Squires in her grave, Briggs in a wheelchair for the rest of his life and started _him_ upon the path of what would soon become his life's work: studying the phenomena of _fear_.

After that he'd become too engrossed in his research to concern himself with the trivialities of the human mating practice. Ah, but now he saw he'd denied himself the pleasure of female companionship for far too long. Too long had he been parched of thirst and refusing to quench it. Too long had he been emotionally starving and not died from the want of sustenance. For too long he'd felt... _nothing_. Not the wind upon his face nor the sun upon his skin. Never had he partaken of the so-called _pleasures_ said to be found in a woman's arms. He'd seen many men become blithering idiots because of the sorcery of the female species. Until this fascinating creature arrived to tempt him as Adam had been tempted by Eve, he'd been content to remain focused upon his research.

Now?

Now he found himself desiring to partake of the forbidden fruit.

_And that_, Crane thought with a soft giggle, _makes this woman truly _extraordinary.

"That is why we must discover who she is," he heard Scarecrow whispering. As if he wasn't already thinking it for himself. "We must know if this woman is worthy of our attention. We must know if she is worthy of the high honor we would be bestowing upon her."

_Do you think that she could be our Mistress of Fear_? Crane mused.

"Yes..." came the loquacious response.

_She could prove to be as much of a twit as Quinn, though. _

"Ah, but look at her bearing," Scarecrow crooned next to his right ear. "It screams with pride and dignity. This woman will never stoop to becoming a mere _plaything_..."

_She would help with gathering together our test subjects, administering the drugs, watching over the groups, and tabulating our findings once the experiment is done._

"She would much rather be our research assistant, credited with her part in our findings and honored for her part in the experiment."

_Yes_...

However, as Crane stood there, silently contemplating exactly how he'd go about engaging the young intern in conversation, he realized that there was something strangely… _familiar_ about her. At first, he imagined it was because she looked a lot like that fool Quinn woman had when she'd first come to work at Arkham (sweet, innocent and pure). Then she turned and Crane caught a glimpse of jade as her eyes flicked over the waiting patients, guards and staff loitering around the transit area. Intelligence met with cool self-confidence and a veiled hint of something more that only served to prick the doctor's interest in the little enchantress even more.

Internally, the Scarecrow stirred. "We know her..." he seethed.

_How_?

"Devil's Night..." came the moist response right before Crane was blasted backwards in time to the night of his greatest failure...

* * *

**Gotham City**

_Eight years ago_.

The girl, the granddaughter of the infamous Dr. Berkeley, scrambled to her feet. She scooped the toddler (an _unfortunate_ causality) into her arms before turning and tearing off into the dense fog that his mist machines had created.

"After her!" Scarecrow snapped shrilly at the inmates surrounding him.

Slowly, the procession followed the fleeing teen. Crane trailed along behind them, enjoying every moment of the chase. The girl-_Raya_, he mentally corrected, stumbled once, but kept on running. Occasionally, she tossed a furtive glance over her shoulder. He could see those green eyes were wide as saucers, dominating the majority of that pale face. He smiled, enjoying the sight of her terror almost as much as he enjoyed this game of pursuit. She turned then into an alley and stopped.

Dead end.

She was trapped.

His minions circled around him, hulking figures licking their lips and aching for a taste of the nubile flesh on display in front of them.

"Come with me now, my dear," he crooned to the glowering brat, holding out the hand that was covered by that Freddy Krueger like glove. In the shadows created by the dense mist, the syringes which tipped his fingers glowed like hellfire. "And I will spare the boy the fate awaiting him." Then his voice dropped an octave and he hissed, "But if you continue to defy me..." a momentary pause to allow his words to take effect. "I assure you that you will not like the consequences."

"Go to hell, you sick bastard," she snarled at him.

"_Tch_, _tch_," he chastised with a click of his tongue. "Such language is not becoming for a young lady of your wealth and breeding."

"Bite me."

Crane giggled, couldn't help himself. She was really _quite_ adorable now that he thought about it. She pushed the boy behind her and reached into the pack she had dropped on the ground.

"Come along now, my dear," he simpered. "It is time that we are off."

"I will never go anywhere with you!"

Scarecrow giggled. "You have no choice in the matter, child."

"Wrong!" she snarled as she pulled a flare from the bag. She ignited it, tossed it at him. A spark from the red-hot flame caught in a piece of the frayed burlap covering his left arm. Flames arced across Crane's face. He shrieked, once, the sound offensively girly before he began to wildly beat at the smoldering material. The material burst into flame. With another high-pitched scream he tore off through the fog, desperate to find an ounce of water in which to put out the burning cloth.

* * *

"It is the little twit," Scarecrow said once the memory faded. "The one who dared to set us on fire."

_You think she is the one who handed us our greatest failure_?

"Yes…"

Crane's eyes narrowed as he studied that alabaster face, those glittering green orbs. _Yes_, he thought now. This woman and that fourteen-year-old brat could very well be one and the same. Raya Berkeley would be about the same age as this young woman now. Hatred lanced through him, hot and keen, and was even more thrilling than his momentary spurt of lust had been. His heart beat with a different sort of anticipation now. His body hungered for something darker, colder and more sinister in nature once he saw the possibility to have revenge was now at hand.

"Vengeance shall finally be ours."

_Yes_...

His lucent eyes gleamed in the shadows. Crane felt a shift start deep down within himself. Felt the Scarecrow slowly rising up towards the surface. He could feel the darkness swelling to life within him, trying to oust him, to seize control of their body. _No_! He could not allow the Scarecrow to rise to the surface! Not yet! He had things to do, facts to gather before he could give his other side free reign to make this girl-turned-woman pay for her crimes against him! First, he needed to know if this young woman was, in fact, the granddaughter of Dr. Matthew Berkeley Sr. Then, and only then would he allow the Scarecrow his freedom.

For if she was...

"Inceptive will finally be ours," the Scarecrow cooed.

And obtaining _Inceptive_ appealed to him almost as much as getting even with the little twit did. A silver haired doctor Crane did not recognize (and whom he made a mental note to become better acquainted with) appeared to escort the young woman through the transit area. Rows of patients, many of them transfers from Blackgate, hooted and hollered at her from behind the locked doors of their cells. Obscene innuendos, cat calls and whistles followed her down the length of the long, dreary corridor. Crane heard them rattling their cages and yapping like packs of hyenas and was disgusted by it. It was nothing more than Sigmund Freud's sex and aggression theory at work. Sex and aggression were, after all, the basic drives that drove them all. They were the instincts they were all born with, and which dominated each and every choice that they made.

Crane thought Freud to be as crazy as the majority of the patients locked up in Intensive Treatment. However, even he couldn't discount how areas of his psychodynamic theory were not relevant in the modern era.

The doctor led the brat down a side corridor that snaked off from the one he was hiding in. Crane unwound his lanky frame and scuttled down the hall after them, hearing her speak in a voice that reminded him of spiced rum.

"I appreciate you taking the time to escort me around the facilities, Dr. Nichols."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Kean," Nichols replied warmly. "We are truly grateful that you decided to take this internship with us..."

He blanked their voices out. None of what they said mattered to him. He briefly considered luring the woman into one of the empty cells lining the long, winding hallway. He could inject her then with a dose of his fear toxin and get the information that he desired from her.

"Ah, but what fun would that be?" his other side asked him.

Jonathan's lips curled. Why, Scarecrow was right. What fun would it be to confront the brat now? The experiment would be over if he made his approach at this point. Better to wait, to bide his time, to begin by formulating a hypothesis statement. There were all sorts of things he still needed to take into account before beginning his new experiment. He needed to give thought to the topic he desired to research. He needed to carefully select the research method he would use to test his variables. He needed to set the parameters of his particular method and stage how the experiment was going to be conducted, and by whom. He needed to take all the possible outliers and confounding variables into consideration in order to ensure his results were conclusive, valid and reputable.

He needed to know if she was indeed Raya Berkeley so that he could have her, her grandfather's copiously wondrous behavioral modification agent, and vengeance upon the Dark Knight all in one go.

The Scarecrow let loose a high pitched cackle that sent chills down the spine of the very woman Dr. Jonathan Crane had just become fixated upon.


	11. Weren't you told?

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

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* * *

As soon as Nichols left her alone in her makeshift office, Raya smiled and said, "Yanno, when I asked you to come home, I meant come _home_. Not follow your best friend around on her meeting at Arkham."

"Well, when you initially asked me to come home it was before some freak with a gun took a shot at you and Barb."

Raya glanced up at the ceiling and saw the faint outline of the figure perched in the opening of an air duct. "I already have both parents riding my tail feathers, bird boy," she drawled. "I don't need you riding them as well."

She saw his teeth flash white in the murky shadows. "Kon's the one who should be riding your tail feathers."

"You think he's not?"

He dropped down beside her and have her a look full of unholy deviltry and amusement. "Considering how you've got him wrapped around those long, elegant fingers of yours..."

Raya clapped a hand to her face before groaning, "Et tu, Wingicus?"

He flashed a cheeky grin. "I've known you two were an item since the incident at Cadmus's facility last year."

"We weren't an item then, buzzard beak."

He reached up to cup her cheek. "No," he agreed with a slight nod. "You weren't. But I knew it was only a matter of time before you would be."

_This_, she thought as she nuzzled her cheek into his palm. She'd needed this, needed him in order to find her balance again. As steady and stable as her Kryptonian boyfriend, as supportive and wonderful as her geeky little brother, as protective and amazing as both her fathers, they just weren't this man. Richard Grayson was more than just her teacher or her partner. He was her best friend and de facto older brother. He had been ever since they were nine and tragedy took their worlds and flipped them upside down. It'd been Bruce who'd introduced them, who'd given them each other to hold onto as they navigated the waves of grief assaulting them.

It'd been Bruce who turned them into a _family_. It'd been them against the criminal underworld for the last fourteen years. They'd fought with each other and for each other. They'd supported the other through some of the darkest times the other could face. They were there during the good and not so good times. It'd been Dick who'd supported her desire to not only become the Fenix, but an agent for the GCPD. Same as she'd supported his decision to become Nightwing and Officer Grayson for the BCPD. They were the support system each could rely upon, the confidante each could say anything too without fear of repercussions or that those things would be repeated. There was only one thing she couldn't tell this man, and that only because she refused to place her demons on top of his own.

"How did you know it would only be a matter of time before we'd end up as a couple?" She smiled up at him. "Even I wasn't sure we were going to end up dating."

"I know you." His lips curved at the corners. "I know you don't sacrifice yourself for someone unless you love them. And," he added with a twinkle in his eyes. "You glow whenever someone so much as mentions Conner by name."

"Oy," she sighed. "And here we thought we were keeping our relationship a secret from everybody."

"You managed to not tip off Barb," he teased.

She punched him lightly in the stomach. "Wouldn't tell her that if I was you."

He chuckled and pulled her in for a hug. "I'm already in hot water for having ordered her to remain at home until we figure out who your would-be assassin is." He jostled her playfully. "Speaking of which..."

"Bruce knows I'm here..."

"And he approved?" One brow lifted. "Or did you just wait until he left for patrol?"

She tucked her head beneath his chin. "It was a Wayne Foundation charity dinner..."

"Of course," he joked. "And it's still sneaky as all get out."

"He didn't exactly forbid me from coming out to Arkham and meeting with Nichols."

"But he did say he wanted you to wait until either he or Gordon could be with you."

She fidgeted. "He may have said something about that," she allowed. "Yes."

He let out one long, heavy breath of air. "Rae..."

"I had to come," she interjected in a firm voice. "I can't fulfill my hours for my degree just by working at the GCPD or TA-ing for Professor Stubens. I have to actually work in a clinical setting. And Arkham is the most logical place for me to do that."

"What about Crane?" he asked. "Or the Joker? Both have their sights set on you."

_And each for different reasons_, he added silently.

"Crane hasn't seen me since I was fourteen," she replied. "Well, not without my mask at least. And he won't likely remember me as being Raya Kean-Berkeley. I was just Raya Berkeley then."

He felt her body shudder in one long line of absolute disgust at the use of her full name. He soothed her disquiet by rubbing her back in slow circles.

"And what about the Joker?"

"What about him?"

"He targets you almost as much as he does Batman now, Rae."

She angled her head back to look at him. In the shadows of her office, her eyes glowed with green fire. "That's because I stopped the sick son of a bitch from killing Tim the same as he did Jason."

"Speaking of Jas..."

"No."

Both brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"We are not discussing what happened between me and Jason."

"Rae..."

"I said _no_, Wing."

The notes of steel in her tone so reminded him of Bruce that it made him smile. He caved, though because he figured she'd been nagged enough and didn't need him pecking at her, too. He turned his head; rest his lips against her temple.

"Fine," he said lightly. "We'll pretend he didn't confront you on yours and Conner's apartment balcony and that he didn't hurt you if it makes you feel better."

Raya just heaved a heavy sigh and banded her arms tightly around his waist.

* * *

"It's her..." the Scarecrow hissed in his ear. "She's Berkeley's granddaughter."

_Yes, yes I know she is_, Crane replied. He stood watching the two heroes (who else could the little lovely be but the Fenix?), his limpid eyes shining with glee behind the lenses of his glasses.

"We must capture her. We must have our revenge upon her!"

_Not yet_, he soothed his seething other side. _Not while she's guarded by Nightwing_.

"We must get her when she is alone."

_Oh, and I know just the way in which to ensure that we get her alone_.

"Do tell?" The Scarecrow purred.

_Robin_, Crane replied. _Her greatest fear is failing to save the Boy Blunder. So if our partner can manage to get her hands upon the boy_...

"Miss Berkeley will fall right into our clutches."

_And we will have our vengeance and Dr. Berkeley's formula handed to us_.

He laughed, long and low before scuttling off down the hallway towards his office.

* * *

The _Aces & Eights_ seemed more like a ghost town that night than it did one of the East Ends more busiest nightspots. This, of itself, would be something Jason would have considered as an almost unheard of experience. That night, however, he found the lack of people chugging watered down whiskey like it was _Dom Perignon_, laughing at dumb ass jokes, bitching about their asshole bosses wanting to cut hours or tossing lame insults at each other while they shot pool to suit his mood.

He was seated at a table in the back of the bar, nursing a cup of what tasted like week old coffee (and likely was if he knew cheapskate Nelly half as well as he thought he did). It had been over two weeks since the incident with Raya on her penthouse balcony and he was no closer to understanding _now_ what the hell had happened then any more than he'd understood it _then_. Why he'd attacked her as he had made absolutely no sense to him whatsoever. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. He'd been anticipating either the old man or the golden boy tracking him down and beating his stupid ass senseless for what he'd done to the dark-haired girl.

Yet neither man had come to find him to deliver the ass kicking he expected and which he knew he royally deserved. That they hadn't come to find him surprised him considering how he'd left enough breadcrumbs for even a two-year-old to follow. Jason sat back and shut his eyes. Instantly he saw the way Raya had looked right before she'd snapped back to herself and come at him with her claws unsheathed. Guilt crawled through his belly like the worms that had feasted upon his flesh while he'd been lying in that coffin.

Accusations screeched at him like a band of hoot owls, telling him he owed her some sort of a half-ass apology at least for what he'd done. Jason had a feeling that getting anywhere near the woman at that point was going to be about as easy as walking barefoot across lava. Not only was Drake keeping close to her side, but Kent had left the super mutt to keep watch over her as well.

Quite by accident (meaning as he'd been ransacking her apartment) he'd discovered that Raya Kean was actually _Special Agent_ Kean. She served as one of the GCPD's criminal profilers. That, itself, was not a surprise. She'd only been trained by Bruce in how to profile scumbags from the time she'd been ten. Approaching her at police headquarters was not the most sanest plan he'd ever come up with (considering how he was wanted for no less than a few dozen murders and other criminal activities), but he honestly didn't see any better option open to him.

Way he saw it?

He needed to talk to the woman.

This was the way.

End of story.

Jason took a swallow of his now tepid coffee, grimacing as the bitter liquid slid down his throat to commingle with the ooze percolating in his belly. His phone dinged above the blare of heavy metal coming from the jukebox in the corner. _It's_ _about damn time ya got back ta me_. He'd been waiting four hours for his CI inside the GCPD (a kid he'd known growing up) to get back to him. He set his cup of stale coffee down and reached over to tap the screen with one long finger, a smirk twisting one corner of his lips. He made a low hum deep in his throat as he took note of the text's short and simple message: [she's due at the precinct in a half hour for her shift]

Now _that_ was something Jason found very, very interesting.

Weekends in Gotham had always been the most fun when he'd been Robin and not just because he was allowed to spend his nights carousing Gotham with his dark mentor and adoptive father. The bad guys (your average, and every day sort of scum, not the sleaze bags like Riddler and Penguin) all tended to come out and play on the weekends. That Raya was working at police headquarters rather than out patrolling one of the districts suggested Bruce had either grounded her (something he could see the old man doing), made some changes in the team's infrastructure (didn't sound right), or planted her inside the GCPD to act as a sort of secondary agent (now _that_, he realized, sounded like Bruce all over).

Either way, he realized that _Agent_ Kean being regulated to a desk job worked to _his_ advantage. He'd ghost his cell number as Drake's, send her a text asking her to come out onto the roof where the Batsignal was, say he was sorry for being such an asshole, admit he was wrong for doing what he did, promise he'd never go near her again and leave. Five minutes tops. That's all it was gonna take to end the guilt burrowing down deep inside his soul. He could handle that.

Right?

_"_Wrong," he heard his sixteen-year-old self whispering in his ear. "Yanno ya ain't gonna feel any better even after ya apologize ta the hottie."

_And why's that_? he asked himself (nah, talking to your past dead self wasn't weird at all...)

He heard a snort and then his younger self snarked, "Really think _I'm sorry_ is gonna be good enough ta explain away the hurt that ya caused her? Dude, c'mon. It's so not enough."

_No_, _it's not enough_, was his disgruntled reply. _But it will have to be 'cause it ain't like I gotta soul ta sell here_. He pushed back his chair and stood, stretching back muscles that had gotten a bit stiff after slouching for so long in a hard wooden chair. He dropped a five on the table, winked at the woman tending bar and turned to leisurely stroll from the bar. Not a one of the regular drunks or beatniks who occupied the bar made a move to hinder his exit from their fine establishment. If anything, they looked only too happy to see he was finally leaving.

A smirk twisted the corners of his long lips as he shoved open the door and stepped out into the cold night air. It wasn't like he could blame them for being nervous around him. He had left a rather massive and bloody trail behind him during his one-man crusade to clean up the streets of Gotham. _Then again_, he thought with another smirk, it wasn't as if he was known for ever having played well with others. Even during his tenure as Robin he'd struggled with tempering his volatile temper and proclivity for delivering bloody mayhem upon those he brought to justice.

The neon sign above the door spluttered on and off, its iron lettering bent at unnatural angles. He didn't care to imagine just how it might have gotten so twisted. Traffic in this part of the East End was absolutely non-existent for this time of night. Park Avenue was where the districts seedier bars and night clubs were all located. The road that _Aces_ sat on was one-way, the cobblestone street too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions and lined with dozens of dives just as bad as the one he'd vacated.

Most of Gotham's streets were like this, considering how most of them were well over two hundred years old. _Then again,_ he thought as he strolled down the street with his hands jammed in his coat pockets, most of the city tended to still favor the old style of architecture; there was more than one home or business which carried a hint of the infamous Gothic Revival style favored at Gotham's founding.

Jason's footsteps echoed off the grimy brick walls. Frightened rats scurried across the cobblestone to find safety beneath boxes dumped outside the backdoor of a shop that had its windows and doors boarded up. A scruffy looking tabby screeched as it was startled out of where it had been feasting upon something behind a pile of garbage. Broken glass, cigarette butts, crack pipes and other dank debris crunched beneath his boots.

However, Jason paid none of it any attention as he made his way over to where he'd stashed his bike. For him, these filthy streets were _home_. He had been born and raised upon these streets, knew every twist, turn and dark alley by sight and sound. He was more comfortable here then he'd ever been roaming the streets of the Gotham Heights district, in fact. Here he didn't have to worry about what society thought of him. Here he didn't have to think about the family who'd forgotten him.

He walked over to where a rusty metal dumpster, its paint peeling, stood at the end of the alley. Fresh snow had fallen in the last few hours and the lid of the container was covered in a crystallized blanket of white. Rats scurried around amidst the trash, seeking refuge from the arctic temperatures in the refuse. The entire area smelled like rotting, stinking garbage.

Jason undid a latch and opened one side of the container, which hit the ground with a loud _bang_. A thick layer of snow coating the cobblestone muffled the majority of the sound. Hidden inside the rusty metal shell, however, was a black Kawasaki sport bike he'd customized himself. He settled on the seat of the bike before hitting the throttle and firing up the bikes engine. A thought occurred to him as he pulled on his helmet: maybe she'd arrest his dumb ass and dump him into a cell. _Be exactly what I deserve. _

He glanced at the tower in the distance. Its huge W was a shining beacon that seemed to be calling out to him, begging him to give up, give in, and come home. For a moment, his expression wavered beneath his helmet. Then the anger and bitterness returned and he gunned the engine, speeding out of the alley and across the silent city streets.


	12. He's Your What?

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.

* * *

Things were rather quiet around the Major Crimes Unit that night. Most of the on-duty crew was still in attendance at a press conference the mayor was holding at Gotham Hall to announce the building of a new super maximum prison. Those who weren't downtown were scattered throughout the rest of Gotham's boroughs and districts. Most were handling a handful of petty B&E's, breaking up a couple of gang fights, investigating an odd homicide down at the Gotham Docks, busting up a prostitution ring, raiding one of the Falcone's safe houses, or just keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble going on in the city, period. Only two people were there, in the main bullpen at that moment, a rookie detective named Floyd Saunders, and Raya.

Saunders had lucked out and gotten tasked with being the duty officer of the day. As jobs went, it was an easy (and the safest) one. All he was required to do for the next eight hours was take phone calls and direct them to whoever the hell they were supposed to go. It was easy as baking a frozen pie in his mind. So easy, in fact, that even a moron could do the job (and he was happy with being that idiot). He smirked as he glanced over at the boards, nodded, satisfied that all was quiet in the city before he reached over to flip on the office television. He turned to the all-news channel and sat down in a swivel chair near the row of silent telephones. Vicki Vale was standing on the steps of Gotham Hall and speaking above the buzz from the crowd.

"This is Vicki Vale reporting live from downtown Gotham. In just a few moments, Mayor Hill will be live on stage to explain his controversial decision to build a super-prison in the very heart of Gotham. This decision... "

"Is dumb as hell," Saunders grumbled right before he switched to the ballgame. He glanced over at Raya, who was busily tapping away at the keyboard of her computer while staring at a file she had on her left. He studied her for a moment in silence, admiring the way the light from the computer monitor reflected off the silver frames of her glasses. He'd been steadily working his way up to asking the agent on a date for the last four months. Only the fact that she was the bosses kid, and Gordon somehow always around when he worked up the guts to ask her out, kept him from doing so. He was bound and determined that he was gonna ask her out on a date tonight, though. Gordon was gonna be out of the office for the next few hours taking care of the mayor's crap and there was nobody else around who could interrupt him. He decided to start small and work his way up.

"Hey, you agree with me about the super-prison being the dumbest idea our mayor has ever had, right, Kean?"

Raya glanced up from the screen, her eyes thoughtful behind the lenses of her glasses. Then she said slowly, "Well, a new prison complex is a good idea in theory, Saunders." She sat back in her chair, scooping that long mane of wildly curling hair up into a messy bun that she kept in place with a pen. "Arkham isn't big enough to contain all the inmates after the flood last year destroyed over sixty percent of the grounds and facilities. And," she added on a sigh, "Blackgate has been slowly crumbling down around us for the last ten years."

"Well, yeah, I know that. And you're right about us needing to build a new complex in which to house the freaks in," Saunders said while rubbing the back of his neck and grinning at her. "But putting it up in the heart of the city?" He shook his head. "Ain't really a smart idea if you ask me."

"Well." Her lips curved. "Mayor's under the impression that it's the best idea he's ever had."

"Yeah," Detective Harvey Bullock stated as he came lumbering into the room, "well, lemme tell ya one thing about our mayor, kiddo."

Raya glanced over at the veteran detective, her lips trembling. "And what's that, Mr. Bullock?"

The ghost of a smile creaked across Bullock's lips before he rumbled in that gravelly baritone of his, "Guy's frequently full of shit."

Saunders chortled even as Raya snorted a laugh.

"Don't let Macavoy hear you saying that," she advised the veteran detective. "You know how much he worships Mayor Hill."

"Macavoy is as big a moron as the mayor is," he said as he perched on the edge of her desk. "He can't smell the bullshit because his nose is crammed to far up Hill's ass."

"You'd think the two were knocking boots with the way Macavoy goes on about Hill," Saunders joked.

Raya snorted. "Macavoy is married to the job," she told them. "And probably has not been on a date since her days at the Academy."

"Speaking of dates..." Saunders began but Bullock cut a look at him that shut him up instantly.

"Kid's spoken for." His growl reminded Saunders of that of a bulldog. "Her boyfriend's pals with her kid brother, in fact."

It was a clearly stated warning: _Back off_.

Saunders flipped back around in his chair, annoyed by Bullock's interference, but wisely choosing _not_ to confront the veteran detective. Or have the muscled guy he saw hanging out with that kid, Drake, earlier that afternoon pummel him into dust for hitting on his girl.

* * *

Soon as Saunders turned back around, Bullock shifted his attention back to the woman staring inquisitively up at him. He'd known what Saunders was about as soon as he'd seen him engage the sprite in conversation. And he'd put a stop to it immediately. He tipped back his fedora so he could get a better look at her, taking in her drawn, waxy features.

"Youse doing okay, kiddo?"

Raya stared into his eyes, her own darkly thoughtful, before she finally nodded. "I'm doing all right, Mr. Bullock."

"Ain't no need ta be so formal with me, sprocket."

Her lips twitched, and a hint of mischief flickered in the depths of her eyes. "I thought you were uncomfortable with me calling you Uncle Harvey here in the precinct?"

"If'n I'm gonna be puttin' pups like Saunders in his place," he grumbled. "Then I think lettin' the pups know just who it is that I am to ya is in order."

Raya gave him a perplexed look. "Why do you have to put the boys in their place? None of them have ever been disrespectful or treated me as if I'm not one of them."

Bullock just heaved a soft sigh. He tended to forget how the sprite didn't see herself in the way normal women tended to. She had absolutely no understanding of her own attractiveness to the male (and female) species. Not only was she a looker (in his admittedly jaded opinion), but she also had the bank account and the type of social connections that a poor schmo looking to better themselves would want.

"As much as youse try to deny it, youse are a tempting morsel to the boys."

"I'm not the only girl on the force," she said dryly. "Unlike the," a pause was punctuated with a smirk, "_old days_ as you call them, there are plenty of women now working for the GCPD."

"No, youse ain't and yes there are plenty of dames on the force now," he agreed with a nod. "But youse are the richest one."

She made a face. "So... it's less _me_ they want and more Grandfather's money." She sniffed her disgust. "Lovely."

"Youse got a good guy, sprocket."

"You approve of Conner?" she lifted one eyebrow before drawling, "And how much did my uncle pay you to say that?"

"Not a dime," he told her with a wink. She breathed out a laugh but didn't reply so Bullock said, "Speaking of your uncle." He reached up to pull out the toothpick he'd stuck between his teeth. "Why's he got youse riding a desk tonight? Thought you were ordered to remain at Wayne Manor until that shooter could be found."

She pulled a face. "I am under house arrest and on official leave until the shooter is found." She indicated the file next to her. "But I have some paperwork that I need to finish for the O'Halloran case. I'm the assigned agent and will have to testify still."

Bullock grunted and lifted the mug of coffee he'd brought with him. "When are youse due ta testify in court?"

She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Donnelly says she will likely call me Tuesday or Wednesday."

"Youse ready for this?"

She nodded. "I have studied the case file frontwards and backwards just as Uncle Jim suggested I do. I have gone over the case notes, the crime scene photos, listened again to the witness accounting of the events that occurred. I have watched the in-take interview from when O'Halloran got brought in for questioning a dozen times now at least."

"And?"

"And it is clear to me that John O'Halloran was not in the middle of an en bloc blackout caused by a large consumption of alcohol at the time he murdered his girlfriend."

Bullock gave her a look full of quiet pride. "Defense ain't got a case what with youse blowin' their blackout theory outta the water."

"They never had a case," she drawled. "Guy's a murdering bastard and going to get put away for being a murdering bastard." Her lips twisted into a smirk. "Just as he deserves to be."

Bullock chuckled before taking a swig of his now lukewarm coffee. He was about to ask her about how school was going when a white dog (which looked like it was some type of a hybrid version of a Wolfhound) stood up from where it had obviously been napping on the opposite side of her desk. The dog stretched its mammoth body, every muscle rippling with a lethal grace. He looked up at Bullock with a mixture of curiosity and something that Harvey didn't quite think of as _doggie_ intelligence shining in the depths of his chocolate colored eyes. However, the detective found he could only sit there and gape at the massive hound.

"Kiddo?" he finally managed to croak. "Who's this?"

"Harvey Bullock," she twilled happily, "meet Krypto."

Bullock ran a hand over his face, felt the thick stubble scrap his palm. "Youse coulda warned me that ya were bringing your dog in ta work with youse."

"Krypto is not my _pet_," Raya said even as Krypto rolled his eyes and released a heavy sigh. "He's my guardian actually."

"Your... guardian?" Bullock asked weakly.

"Yup," she confirmed cheerfully. "He's my guardian."

"Who decided that youse needed Cujo here ta protect youse?"

"Lemme see," she chirped. "That would have been Conner, Dick, Tim, Bruce, and Uncle Jim." The hound let out a soft yip. "Oh, yes, and Alfred and Barbara."

Bullock grunted, but found he wasn't overly surprised. "I'm taking they decided this because of the threats Berkeley has been making against youse recently?"

"Well," she said. "That and because of the incident at the school a few days ago." She grimaced. "It was a mutually reached decision that _seven_ of the _eight_ of you turned into law right before I was allowed to come into the station tonight."

"Keeping youse safe is important, sprocket."

"I know," she said on a long breath. "Believe me, I know."

Krypto placed his head in her lap then, whining softly and quite pathetically in both their opinions. Raya harrumphed at the superdog's blatantly manipulative tactic, but scratched him behind the ear as he wanted. The dog let out a sound of sheer delight and utter contentment, his tongue lolling out on one side. Harvey thought he looked more like a family pet than he did an actual guard dog at that moment. Yet Bullock knew the six men would not have chosen the dog for guard duty if he wasn't capable of performing it. Realizing she was in safe... _paws _for the moment, he pushed to his feet, groaning softly as ancient knees creaked and moaned.

"I'ma go and type up my report on the Dockers case," he told her. "Soon as I'm done, I'll walk youse and," he paused to look over at the content dog. "_Krypto_ to your car."

"That sounds fine with me." There was a corroborating bark from the dog. "And with Krypto."

Harvey ambled off to his office then, leaving Raya alone with Krypto. She glanced down at the content superdog. "You're incorrigible, yanno that?"

Krypto gave her a look that said he had absolutely _no_ idea what she was talking about. Then he nudged her hand, _chuffing_ softly. Her lips curved.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "I know what it is you want, you dopey mutt."

She was still running her hand over that soft fur when her phone chirped five minutes later. She glanced at it, and frowned with her curiosity. Then she reached over and picked the vibrating phone up in one hand. Glancing at the screen, she saw that the text had been sent by Tim. She _hummed_ softly as she slid her thumb across the screen in one smooth and effortless motion in order to read his message.

_[Are you busy_?] it read.

She rolled her eyes at that bit of stupidity. Then she grinned before tapping the screen with a finger and text back to him: [_Yes. This is my robot self responding because I can't come to the phone right now.]_

It was silent for all of ten seconds. Then the phone pulsated in her palm. She glanced at the screen and saw one word had been sent back: [_haha._] Then the phone vibrated once more: [_Can you come up to the roof? Need to talk. Important.]_

She _hummed_ again. Then she sent back: [_Give me five minutes. Did you bring coffee and Oreo's? Or did you forget like usual?_]

[_Forgot. Sorry. Make it up to you next time._]

Raya just rolled her eyes. "Ya been saying that for months, Caped Blunder." Then she sent back, [_I'll forgive you because I love you. But you so owe me_.]

[_Just hurry up._]

That had her eyebrows shooting up. It'd have to be important for Tim to ask her to hurry. Worry that something was wrong had her pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. "C'mon, Krypto," she said to the superdog. "Let's go see what's wrong with Robin."

She didn't have to ask twice.


	13. Because You're Mine

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.

Also, because next week is a holiday here in the United States, I won't be posting an update. Happy Holidays to all those who celebrate! :)

* * *

Jason slid his phone into his jacket pocket after sending the last text and settled back in the shadows created by the corner of the building to wait for Raya to join him. For a moment, just one brief moment, he allowed himself to think about the brief conversation he'd had with the woman he'd emotionally shredded less than a few weeks ago.

It had been... _nice_.

_No_, he realized. It'd been more than merely nice. He'd actually found himself enjoying the easy going, back-and-forth banter going on between them- well, between her and who she assumed was Drake. He knew that that sort of teasing tended to happen between partners and friends. He also knew that teasing happened between people who were as close as siblings. Back when he'd tagged along with Dick, they'd made wise and traded quips frequently. It was the sorta banter he might have enjoyed with Raya once upon a time as well. Again Jason was reminded about the things that a masochistic sociopath in clown makeup had stolen from him. It hadn't just been his life that the Joker took from him in that warehouse in Ethiopia. Oh no. What the Joker had taken away had been every opportunity he might have had to actually be _close_ to someone in his adoptive family.

Jason Todd was anything but stupid. He could admit to being bold, brash and reckless. Stupid? Absolutely not.

He could see a kindred spirit in Raya Kean. He could sense they shared a well of secrets, a similar backstory, a common background (family wise) and life theme. Raya was broken, like him. What demons were in her head were as dark and as vicious as those dancing in his. He hadn't seen it before, but he saw now that Raya would have been another partner he could have relied upon as he depended upon Batman, Nightwing and Batgirl. Had Raya not been away at school at the time Bruce brought him home (and Jason suspected that _school_ was really _code_ for her having been sent away to receive a complete Fenix-ucation at the knee of whatever sensei's the old man had hand selected for her), had the Joker not decided he was gonna push Batman into breaking his "golden rule" by killing a Robin, had he not been an impatient kid wanting answers and to do right by his mom, he mighta had the sort of relationship with her that Drake clearly enjoyed.

Hell, there were so many mighta's that he might have enjoyed with Raya had the clown not gotten in the way.

He mighta found a fellow survivor who would understand what it meant to be a grown-up kid.

He mighta found himself a friend in which he could confide each and every one of his hopes (what few he had), his dreams (or nightmares), and fears (the bazillions of those that he had).

He mighta found himself having an older sister he could go to in moments of doubt and confusion.

He mighta found somebody who he could explain the bullshit in his head too.

He mighta found someone who woulda just loved him because he was him.

But no.

All those mighta's didn't come to be. Why? Because that goddamn clown had come along and taken that option, as well as his life, away from him. Jason felt a crushing weight settling upon him. His head started to spin in a swirling, chaotic dance. For a moment he thought he was going to humiliate himself by either puking or passing out. He bore down, and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to stop the vertigo and the accompanying nausea. A moan was ripped from him a second before pain shrieked through every inch of his body. Suddenly, an image exploded behind his eyes. He could see his sixteen-year-old self on the cold ground of that warehouse, blood forming a black pool beneath his battered and bruised body and that bomb ticking slowly to zero right next to his ear. He could see the Joker standing over him, the crowbar he'd used to beat him with coated in gore and a sick grin twisting those mangled lips. Again he heard that loquacious voice cheerfully telling him to "be a good boy," and "finish" his "homework," before saying, as he casually strolled towards the exit, "and hey, please tell the big man I said... hello!"

With a vitriolic curse, Jason shoved the memory to the back of his mind. Shaking, his mind and stomach churning, he stumbled over to the searchlight standing silently a few feet from him. In the silence of the night his every breath was like the hiss of steam being released by a vent. His vision blurred and he slammed his hand against the emblem fused to that steel casing, seeking comfort and solace in the feel of the iced over metal against his palm. For almost two decades now that spotlight had projected an ominous bat-winged shape onto the night sky. It was a signal to the people of Gotham that they were safe, that there were guardians watching over them—that the bad guys would not sweep them up in the wake of their rampaging chaos.

Not so long as they had Batman around to protect them.

Despite his every attempt, Jason felt a deep pool of longing swirl to life inside him. Even now, after everything that had happened between the old man and him, there was nothing he'd like more than to rest his head upon that broad shoulder and have that larger than life figure tell him in that velvety rasp just "why" he'd allowed it all to happen.

_Yanno, I thought_... he punctuated his thoughts with a sigh. _I really thought I'd be the last person you'd have allowed that son of a bitch to hurt. And when he did_... his fingers clenched upon that burning emblem, seeking strength from that absent figure. From his one-time mentor, partner... his _father_.

_It's not like I was talking about killing vermin like the Penguin or Black Mask. I was talking about_ him. _I was talking about killing the Joker. And doing it because... well, because he took me away from you_.

The door to the stairwell popped open then, disrupting his inner dialogue with the absent Batman and he glanced over to see Raya, with the wonder mutt right on her heels, stepping out onto the roof. She stopped as soon as she saw him, her face and body instantly going as taut as a grapnel line. Those eyes glowed with the light of a billion thoughts and emotions. Then her expression relaxed into a quietly intense one that Jason realized was the social mask she wore around those not in her inner circle. Ignoring Krypto, who issued one long and low growl deep in his throat when he spied Jason, she crossed towards him.

"I am not up for another round of verbal warfare with you, Jason," she stated somberly, "so if that's why you're here? I'll ask that you go ahead and take your leave. Please."

Jason ignored the bitter taste seeing her mask left in his mouth, shook his head, and said quietly, "I ain't here ta fight with ya."

"Then why are you here?" It wasn't asked in a demanding tone, but there was enough grit to let him know she wouldn't tolerate any gruff out of him that night. "And why did you ghost your number as Tim's?"

She stopped a few inches from him and planted her fists upon her hips. Jason took a moment to study, really study this woman he'd so cruelly hurt. At that moment she reminded him of Wonder Woman. Though Raya was much more delicately built than the Amazonian, she still shimmered with a legion of that same feminine power, grace and pride. Yet there were cracks in this woman's armor. Underneath that fiery facade was a woman haunted by the same things he was. Things he'd drug up and made her relive simply because he'd been so engrossed in his own bullshit that he couldn't see beyond the red. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slowly turned to fully face her.

"Would ya have come out here if'n I texted ya?" His fingers curled upon the glass. "Or would ya have told me ta go ta hell?"

_Where I belong_, he added silently. Krypto, having taken up his position as protector, merely _chuffed_ a sigh. Jason imagined the mutt was either calling him stupid or thinking he was dumb for asking such a ridiculous question. Raya also heaved a sigh.

"Yes, I would have. I would have come out here if you had text me, Jason."

Now _that_ actually managed to surprise him. "Why?"

She frowned her confusion. "Why, what?"

"Why would ya come out here?" he asked. "Why would ya come out here after what I did to ya?"

"Because," she said quietly. "You're family, Jason."

He scoffed at that. "I was never a member..."

"Yes," she interjected in a tone that suggested she'd accept no argument about this fact. "_You_ are. _You're _his son, too."

_You're his son_, _too_, she'd said. Not _you were his son until you screwed it all up by being a complete shithead_. Even as the dark entity festering inside him shrank back from the burst of light her words ignited in the recesses of his cold heart, his mouth, always set on automatic fire, spit, "I was never a member of this family. Not in the same way you and the golden boy are. Hell," his smirk didn't quite manage to cover the hurt he heard sizzling in his voice. "Even Timbo is treated as more of a son than I ever was."

"Is that what you think?" Raya's voice was ripe with sympathy. "That Bruce doesn't love you as much as he loves us? Oh, Jas…"

He cut her off before she could finish that statement. "It's the truth, Raya."

She shook her head. "No, it is not." When Jason merely scoffed she said, "When Bruce brought you home? When he took you in? When he chose to give you the mantle of Robin? You became a member of this family."

"Right."

"You are his son."

"Sure I am," he sneered. "Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day it will be true."

"I know it is true now."

"Then why were his parting words to me after our last confrontation of regret for having made me Robin?" He hurled the words at her, damning her for reminding him of those words, and damning Bruce for having spoken them in the first place. Mostly he just damned himself for even still giving a shit. "He saw _me _as some type of a goddamn failure...as something to be ashamed of, Raya."

"And like you always do, Jason…" She glowered at him. "You _heard_ what it was that Bruce had to say to you…" Now she glared. "But you didn't bother to _listen _to what his actual words to you _were._"

Her eyes were hard as glass. Yet, it was the sight of her sympathy that had his jaw clenching, his fists bunching, his fury igniting into a familiar cold haze. _Pity_ was the last goddamn thing he wanted from the woman. Just what it was he did want? He didn't know. He contented himself by merely glaring at her, one long and frustrated stare to let her know just what he thought about her pity and where exactly she could shove it. She merely fixed him with a look that spelled _do something_ in huge green letters.

He stepped closer, only a few inches taller, but still subtly intimidating, and snarled, "And I don't need some pretty, sharp tongued little kitten lecturing me about the differences between _hearing_ and _listening_."

Raya was not about to be intimidated by him. Not that night. Hell no. Nor did she need Krypto, who'd instantly bristled when he stepped closer, to fight her battle for her. She merely raised both her hands and slapped them against his chest, hard enough that he could actually feel it through his armor.

"Do you know why I'd have come out here if you had texted me, Jason?" she growled at him. "It's because _you_ are _his_, and _he_ is _mine_. So I'd have come out here if you had text me. I'd have come out here even knowing that it was likely a trap."

"Why?"

She smacked her hands against his chest again. "Because you stupid jack ass, _you're_ mine."

The woman's logic made absolutely no sense to him. _Why would she willingly set herself up to be hurt_?

"Easy, ya idiot," he heard his younger self whisper to him. '"Cause she sees she failed ya. It was her job to stop us that night. And she figures that she failed us as much as the old man did when we died. And she figures that deserves what ya did ta her because of it."

_That's ridiculous_, he told himself. _She wasn't even there_.

"Don't matter ta her."

No, it wouldn't matter to a woman like Raya Kean. Jason was beginning to see more and more just how much like Bruce this woman really was. Oh, there were differences. There were lots of differences, in fact. However, the core principles she had were all his. It wasn't a matter of her being a good soldier or the perfect protégé, oh no. These were principles she'd been born with and that Bruce (and he assumed Commissioner Gordon) had helped refine.

"Now," he heard her saying. "You never answered me about why you are here."

Jason stood there swimming in a sea of uncertainty and doubt. Then he muttered, "I came ta apologize," without looking at her. Truth was he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Because to look at her was to realize all over again just how much of a bastard he was for having hurt her.

"I don't want an apology."

"Too bad," he didn't growl. Truth was he was simply too exhausted to snap at her. "'Cause that's what you're getting."

She tossed her head, sniffed. Loudly. "How about you explain why you attacked me instead."

"The hell of it is?" he said with a grimace. "I dunno why I went after ya like I did. I've been trying ta figure it out for the last few weeks and I ain't come anywhere close ta having an answer that suffices why I did what I did."

"Ever stopped to think that it's because you are tired of being alone in your pain and suffering?" she spoke the question gently. Still, he scoffed. Pride wouldn't let him even consider that she might be right. Or to request the comfort he knew she'd give if he'd but ask for it.

"Jason," she continued in that same hushed tone, "you have a deep well of hurt inside of you. And you keep lashing out at me, Bruce, Dick, Tim, because you want someone else to hurt as badly as you do. You make _us_ victims because _you_ are still a victim."

Even as his brain told him to stop, to shut up, his rapid fire mouth had him spitting, "Yeah? And whataya know about being a victim, Raya?"

"There goes the idea we ain't stupid," he heard his younger self sigh. He ignored the obnoxious little shit. He'd already worked around to the fact that he was a dumb bastard.

"I was the victim of a private war being fought between my parents until the night my mother was murdered," she told him in a voice that warned him to tread lightly. "Same as you are the victim of the war fought between the woman who raised you and your father. And," she lifted her eyes to his. "Same as you are the victim of a vindictive clown who decided to make you his greatest masterpiece just so he could rip the ground out from beneath Batman and make him break his golden rule."

He ignored the voice that whispered to him, "Hottie ain't stupid. She's pretty much got us figured out," and said instead, "Timbo says your daddy is the one who murdered your mother. Why ain't he in jail?"


	14. There's Nothing I Won't Do

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.

* * *

At eleven that night, Bruce Wayne thumbed the off button on the remote and the television screen he and Alfred had been watching winked out.

"I take it that you will not be spending a quiet evening at home, after all, sir?"

Bruce flicked a mildly amused look over at the butler. "Have I ever had a quiet evening at home, Alfred?"

"Not since Miss Raya and Master Richard were very small, sir."

The slight wistful note in the staid and proper butler's voice was not lost upon Bruce. He, too, missed when his oldest children had been little and their problems simple ones that he could fix without the need for the cape and cowl. However...

"I cannot rewind time and make them nine again, Alfred."

Alfred released one long sigh before saying with great feeling, "A pity, sir. You were quite a bit happier when they were young."

_So were you, old friend_, Bruce mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Alfred had become surrogate mother, father, uncle, confidante, and mentor to each of the children he'd brought into his dark and dangerous world. All of his children saw and treated Alfred as a member of the family. _Even Jason looked to him for advice and comfort_. He pushed back the wealth of dark memories that arose whenever he thought about Jason and muttered, "That's because they needed _me_ more than they needed _Batman_, Alfred."

If there was a wistful note in his voice, he chose to ignore it.

"They still need you more than they do Batman," Alfred corrected gently. "_You_ are their father, Master Bruce. Not Batman."

"Only Batman can stop these assassins from killing her, Alfred."

Alfred gave a slow nod of his head. "Yes, that may well be true, sir. However, it is not only Batman that either Miss Raya or Master Richard needs. He's not the one who soothes away either of their hurts. Nor is it Batman that either comes to when they need help or advice."

"I know, but-"

"Nor is it Batman they fight for, Master Bruce. It is _you_."

Bruce mulled over the butler's words as he made his way over to the grandfather clock situated along one wall of his study. Alfred _did_ have a point, he realized. Both of his oldest children did come to _him_ and not Batman. Even in spite of the rockiness of his relationship (as of late) with Dick, he did still come to him whenever he needed a spot of advice or help in figuring out a particularly challenging case. _And she tends to come to me whenever she's feeling sad or lonely_. Yet Bruce found that he missed the days when they'd been children and needed him to keep their nightmares at bay. His world, as well as this house hadn't been so lonely when Raya and Dick had been living here. They'd filled his life with joy. _And love_. Now they both had others that they turned to whenever their skeletons started bursting out of the closet. He'd long ago reconciled and come to terms with Dick and Barbara's relationship. Raya and Conner's on the other hand? He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that one. On one hand he knew the young kryptonian to be more than worthy of Raya's affections.

He'd watched (and had a hand in) Conner grow from a brash and bold youth into a mature and confident man. There was no doubt in his mind about Conner being capable to take care of Raya. He'd more than proven his ability to do just that when he'd put himself between her and that assassins bullet a few days ago. However, there was a part of him that was jealous about Conner being the one to protect her. He knew it was irrational, that his feelings were ridiculous even. Yet he couldn't help but be just a bit resentful about how Conner was her protector now. He was the one comforting her, the one she turned to whenever she was feeling scared or lonely.

_I wonder if this is how Jim feels_? he mused as he reached up to turn the hands of the clock to 10:47 P.M. He made a note to ask the veteran detective before he began descending the staircase that appeared when the secret door opened.

* * *

Tim, wearing the climbing harness and belt that Bruce insisted upon, hung twenty-five feet above the cave floor, securing an anchor into the stone. Conner floated nearby, a line of heavy gauge nylon webbing held between his hands.

"Are you sure about this, Tim?" he asked while watching Tim work. Around them, the caves innumerous batupants twittered and fluttered their wings at being so rudely awoken from their slumber. "I mean you could just use the training rooms we have back at Titans Tower."

Tim finished securing the anchor and signaled for Conner to hand him one end of the rope. "I'm not returning to the Titans."

"Not returning to the Titans?" Both of Conner's eyebrows shot up. "Why won't you be returning to the Titans?"

_Not that I have to guess about why you aren't returning to the Titans_, Conner added silently.

"Until this business with Berkeley and the assassins has been dealt with," Tim rasped at him from over one shoulder. "I will be staying here in Gotham. I won't leave until I know that you, Barbara and Raya are no longer Berkeley's targets."

Conner just flashed his best friend a lopsided grin. "What? Don't you trust that Batman and I can keep Batgirl and Fenix out of harm's way?"

"I trust that you and Batman can keep them out of danger, Kon," Tim replied in a quiet voice. "But who is going to protect _you_? Or Batman for that matter?" A shadow passed over his face then. "It's my job as Robin to make sure that Batman comes home safe every night. I can't do that if I'm away on a mission with the Titans."

"I'm here," Conner reminded him. "And-"

"And Berkeley is targeting _you_ just as much as he's targeting _Raya_, Kon," Tim growled. "That assassin could just as easily have shot _you_ as either of them."

"You and Raya both keep forgetting that I'm half-kryptonian."

"That-"

"An ordinary bullet causes me about the same amount of pain as a bee sting does you, Tim."

Tim turned away, but not before Conner saw the brief flash of fear that flickered across his friend's face. He frowned. _What the hell is going on, Timbo_? He decided to find out.

"Tim? What is it?"

Tim did not answer, just focused upon attaching the wire to the anchor he'd installed. Conner floated closer to him, trying to get him to look at him, but Tim stubbornly refused.

"What's bothering you, man?" Conner asked finally.

"Nothing's wrong," Tim mumbled.

"Bull," he replied without heat.

Tim scowled. "What makes you think something is up?"

"Cause you're being about as moody as Bruce."

Conner knew that whatever was bothering Tim was serious when he didn't immediately reply to that little jab. He was about to again ask what was bothering him when Tim said, his voice barely above a whisper, "He knows that by hurting you, or me, or any member of this family that it is going to push Raya into confronting him. We are her strength..." a short pause was punctuated by a long sigh, "as well as her greatest weakness." He glanced back at him and Conner saw his eyes were dark with bitterness. "Berkeley is using us to get at her. Same as the Joker uses us to get at Batman." His shoulders dropped before he added, "And at Raya."

Conner reached out to lay a comforting hand upon his shoulder. "She's at her strongest when she's fighting for her family, Tim. You know that."

"I know that she is." He nodded, jerkily. "I do know that she is at her strongest when she's fighting for _us_. But that's the problem. She's fighting for _us. _She'snot fighting for _herself_."

"Well…" Conner began but Tim cut him off.

"She's being hammered on three sides, Kon." At his sides, his hands balled into fists. "She's got the Joker, her father, and now Jason attacking her. And out of those three? It's Jason who has hurt her the worst."

Anybody who doubted that Tim and Raya were siblings only had to see the real worry and fear stamped upon his face to understand the relationship

"I won't let them get near her, Tim," he told him in a voice that was like tempered steel. "I will not let anybody hurt her. I promise you that."

"You do know that the woman you are up there discussing is about as stubborn as Bruce and just as incapable as him of seeing when she's in trouble up to her pretty little eyeballs?"

Both men glanced down to see the smiling face staring up at them. Conner couldn't help but breathe a bit easier at seeing the older hero. If there was anybody who would be able to help him with keeping the members of this family safe, it was Dick Grayson. Still, he couldn't resist teasing the man a little.

"So, you're who she was on the phone with the other night." Conner shot him a wide grin. "Was wondering how long it'd take before the Fenix would call Nightwing home to Gotham."

Tim snorted a laugh. "Ya shoulda known when she started addressing him as bird boy and buzzard beak that she was talking to him."

"Actually she was calling him feather brains and winger blunder."

Dick Grayson tossed his duffel bag into the locker room. "Her pet names for me are absolutely adorable, I swear," he said dryly.

"Least you aren't called _meathead_," Conner replied as he floated down in front of him.

Dick sent him a slow, easy smile. "Well, if you wouldn't act like one she wouldn't call you one."

Conner merely snorted. "I'm not the one she frequently calls Wingdiot when she gets really annoyed."

"Speaking of..." Dick glanced around the cave. "Where is the little she-devil?"

Tim rappelled down to the ground, unhooked his rope, moved over to where he'd set a water bottle on a work bench, and picked it up before saying, "She's on duty tonight."

That had Dick's eyebrows feathering up. "Bruce _actually_ allowed her go into work tonight without having the National Guard escort her?"

"What do you mean that he _allowed_?" Conner drawled lazily. "I recall there being a heated argument between them that was followed by an insanely pissy silence before a sullen compromise was reached."

"Oh?" Amusement speckled Dick's voice. "And what was the compromise that they managed to reach?"

"That she was to allow Krypto to accompany her to the GCPD," Dick heard that familiar voice rasp from behind him. "And that she is to check in with Gordon and I every thirty minutes or else I'd go to the GCPD to retrieve her."

Dick slowly turned to look at the older man. The atmosphere in the cave shifted as soon as their eyes met. Conner imagined that this was what it would feel like if a tornado ever met a volcano. The relationship between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson had become bent at that moment when Bruce decided to fire Dick as Robin. Lost and bitterly confused, Dick had wandered for a time, searching for who he was in a world where he was no longer the Boy Wonder but wasn't really sure about who Dick Grayson was either. Even now, and especially after everything that had happened in the last few years, the relationship between father and son remained strained. That Dick was even there at all was something he attributed to the one common factor still between the two men: their love for Raya.

"You obviously don't know Raya quite as well as I know her," Dick said quietly. "If you did then you'd know that she can merely have Barb ghost her cell phone number as her office number."

"That's why I asked Catwoman to keep an eye on her."

The end of Dick's lips twitched and humor sparkled in the depths of his eyes. "Oh, now that has to be driving Raya nuts."

"As long as it keeps her safe?" Bruce said before turning to head into the changing area. "I don't care how nuts it drives her."

* * *

It was just after eleven and the evening crowd in Matthew Berkeley's club was just starting to get a bit noisy. Berkeley sat listening to their drunken laughter and occasional shouts, intermixed with the feeble attempt of the live band he'd hired to entertain them, from the sanctity of his private office. Sitting behind his black walnut desk, he was leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair and studying the bespectacled man seated across from him, limpid eyes shining with good humor and something Berkeley passed off as not worth his consideration.

"Exactly what is it that you want here, Crane?"

"Why, I want you to call off your dogs, of course."

Berkeley took a puff of his cigar, considering the infamous doctor's request for a few moments. "And if I refuse?"

A pleasant smile curved those thin lips.

"Then I will be forced to use-" A pause was punctuated by a slippery laugh. "_Drastic_ measures in order to ensure you do not succeed at killing your lovely daughter."

Berkeley merely smiled as he puffed on his cigar. Silence, as he so knew, was an effective tool. He'd intimidated a great many people simply by remaining silent. Against this man, however, the technique was absolutely useless. You simply could not out psych a psychologist like Crane. That didn't mean that he couldn't remind the doctor about who was in charge here.

"Let me remind you about how our relationship works, Doctor. I obtain your shipments for you..."

"I am paying you for those shipments," Crane interjected. "A rather hefty fee as I recall."

"Money isn't what I desire for my service, Doctor."

Crane sat forward. A moment before, he'd seemed almost _affable_. Now, he did not. "I am well aware of what it is you want, Mr. Berkeley," he uttered in one low, moist hiss. "But you should realize that without your daughter that I will never have access to the form-"

"I am no longer interested in obtaining either my father's notes or in mass producing his behavioral modifying agent, _Inceptive_."

Crane straightened in his chair. Something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes, upon that long and thin face, but it was gone before Berkeley could determine just what it was he'd seen.

"We had a deal, Mr. Berkeley."

"And I am now renegotiating the terms of that deal, Doctor. I want Raya out of my hair once and for all. And," he declared in a hard voice, "I aim to see that it happens sooner rather than later."

Anger suffused that florid face. "You can't do this! I won't stand for it! Do you hear me, Berkeley? I won't stand for this!"

"I can and I am doing that, Dr. Crane," he simpered. "And there's nothing that _you_ can do about it."

"Oh, but my good man," Crane replied in a slippery smooth voice. "I beg to disagree. There is something that I can do to stop you."

Berkeley's lips curled. "Oh? And what is it that you think you can do, Doctor?"

There was a glimmer of delight as well as a hint of that underlying aberration in those lucent eyes now. Despite himself, Berkeley felt a shiver of fear skate along his spine.

"Why, haven't you guessed?" He saw by the expression upon Berkeley's face that he had not. His smile stretched wide. "I can and _will_ bring against you the one man that you don't want brought against you."

"And just who is that, Doctor?"

Even as he asked he knew what the answer would be. There was only one person in all of Gotham that he had no desire to face off against. _And Crane knows that. _

"Why, the Batman, of course."

Berkeley's jaw clenched. "You wouldn't dare sic the Dark Knight on me."

Crane giggled—a slippery, wet sound which sent shivers of fear dancing up and down his spine. "Oh, but wouldn't I?" he simpered. "To get my hands upon _Inceptive_ I would do anything. Even," he paused, smiled. "Work with the winged freak to stop you from killing your daughter."

Berkeley saw that he had no choice. Crane had him over a barrel. _And he knows it_, he thought, feeling anger surge. _He knows that he has me by the balls_. _I can't risk the Dark Knight coming in and tearing apart the empire that I have worked so carefully to build_. Well, he wouldn't have him for long. _And if the Doctor just happens to become a liability_? _Well, he can be eliminated just as easily as my daughter and her freak boyfriend_.

"Fine," he rasped. "I will call off my assassins."

Crane merely smiled and sat back in his seat. "I assumed you would. Now, about my shipments…"


End file.
